


Just Like Heaven

by Milkovichsly



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death Outside of Ian Gallagher or Mickey Milkovich, Enemies to Lovers, Ghosts, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Inspired by Just Like Heaven (2005), Jealous Ian Gallagher, M/M, Mentioned Mandy Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich is not in Jail, Protective Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milkovichsly/pseuds/Milkovichsly
Summary: Based on the movie "Just Like Heaven" by Mark WatersYoung EMT Ian Gallagher works for Weiss Memorial Hospital in Chicago and is so focused on his work that he has given up any form of social and private life.Things change when Ian is involved in a car accident and his old apartment is rented out to a weird stranger.Characters: Shameless US | AU Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich | OG charactersPlot: Just Like HeavenItalian Version on Wattpad
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54





	1. Just Like Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> -The plot is based on the movie "Just Like Heaven" by Mark Waters (a 2005 romantic comedy that I highly recommend if you haven't already seen it) which in turn is based on the book "Just Like Heaven" by Marc Levy (I also recommend this one).
> 
> -English isn't my first language so I apologize for eventual mistakes. Feel free to let me know if you found some so I can improve c:
> 
> -The characters will be a bit OOC although I'm trying not to stray too far from the OG. Unfortunately for the purposes of the plot some changes will be necessary, but nothing too strangeI hope.
> 
> -I don't know yet how many chapters will be, but for now I assume about 15(?)
> 
> -As for the characters, also some aspects of the movie will be different in this story, that's because I don't want to go too far away from the characters and there are some lines/scenes that with Mickey and Ian have nothing to do with them so...

The garden, adorned with a wide variety of flowers that Ian could not really recognize, stretched for miles and everywhere he looked everything seemed perfectly immaculate. There was no one there and Ian had sat on a strange metal bench placed on a nice circular paved square, the scent was so intense and the docile birds singing so pretty that the boy had let himself be carried away, he closed his eyes feeling strangely at peace. How long had he not felt this way?  
Still immersed in that paradise, he bent his head slightly to let the light morning breeze cool his hot skin, but something struck him on the temple. A metallic noise replaced the song of the sparrows and the smell of the flowers gave way to a much more pungent disinfectant. Ian opened his eyes, cursing for the pain in his head, and only then he realized that he was no longer in that magnificent garden, but in the gloomy back of an ambulance. Well at least that explained the ugly bench he was sitting on, no man in his right mind would have placed it in such a paradise. He looked around, still out of his mind, and the sly smile of the two colleagues sitting opposite abruptly brought him back to reality.

“Goodmorning, sleepy face! Did you sleep well?" 

Sue asked, with her usual mocking tone, Ian passed his hand through hs disheveled red hair, not caring at all to answer her colleague and ignoring even Tessa's giggle.

“How much did I sleep?”

“Sixteen minutes. A record for you.”

This time Ian smiled too. He had to admit to himself that, after a shift of almost twenty-three hours, the tiredness was beginning to make itself felt, his legs felt heavy and his shirt was stained with blood and sweat, the idea of a shower really enticed him a lot, but not enough to get him out of that car. He put his hand in his face, trying to get himself settled before arriving at their destination. A domestic accident near Homan Avenue, three injured, one likely death.

“You should go home. We pass by your parents' house, we can leave you there.”

Tessa said, looking at her colleague with apprehension. Two deep dark shadows stood out under his green eyes, in contrast to his pale skin, the uniform was now completely creased and the boy's posture was definitely too crooked. The picture as a whole was a complete disaster, but everyone in that ambulance knew what the redhead would answer.

“At home I will not help anyone. I prefer to stay.”

The two women exchanged an amused look, now accustomed to the temperament of the young colleague, even the driver, Steve, giggled quietly.

The ambulance returned to Weiss Memorial Hospital almost three hours later, followed by two more, each containing a body. Ian was diligently checking the slow heartbeat of the middle-aged man who fainted on the stretcher when the car stopped and the doors opened wide to allow doctors and nurses to take him away. Ian got off with the stretcher, informed the nurses about his patient's condition and returned to his station, hoping to have time to at least change his shirt.  
Tessa, Sue and Steve, were already at the lockers, discussing who knows what while they were cleaning blood off their hands and getting ready to go home. 

"I have dinner with my asshole ex." 

Sue said, hiding behind the door of her locker while smuggling in a spare T-shirt. 

"He still hasn't told his mother that we're separated, can you believe it?"

Ian laughed amused, heading to the small sink to at least freshen up his face.

“Are you complaining? I have to prepare two packs of cookies for the entire kindergarten. Never make three fucking children.”

Tessa complained in response, Ian looked at Steve, the only other man on the team, and saw him suddenly bleach. The boy, a couple of years older, gave him a terrified look.

“Esmeralda wants a child...I can't even tie my own shoes, man, how am I supposed to have a child?”

“Maybe you can get your son to tie your shoes.”

Ian replied, arousing the laughter of his colleagues. Steve, on the other hand, seemed anything but amused. Ian headed to his locker, his hair still slightly damp, ignoring the rest of the conversation. In the end, he had nothing to complain about, no boyfriend to ask him to start a family, much less children to complain about. His only family were his five siblings and that human carcass of his father. Not that he had never wanted to put down roots, on the contrary, he often thought about it, but he was still young and had worked hard to get that job at the hospital and only by continuing to work hard one day he could have worn a doctor's gown and no longer that filthy uniform. And only then, he would have thought about having a real family of his own. The loneliness he felt at that moment was just a small price to pay for success.

“Blessed are you who have no worries. Only the work! Well see you tomorrow, buddy!”

A pat on the shoulder and Steve's voice helped him get back on the ground. Sue and Tessa were already out and the boy was on his way to the exit. Ian smiled cordially, without answering back, now accustomed to that kind of joke from his colleagues. He had the half impression that the others thought he was a bit too stiff, but no one had ever dared to tell him openly and he had never asked. Only when he was finally alone, he allowed himself to release a trembling sigh, stared at his own reflection in the mirror and what he saw was nothing but a tired, expressionless face.

He was about to go back to the ambulance, he still had to disinfect the equipment and the stretcher, when the phone started vibrating in his pocket and the guy answered, continuing to walk, without even checking who he was. Not that there were many options on his contact list.

“Asshole, tell me you’re coming to dinner tonight.”

“Hello to you too, Lip”

The boy smiled when his brother, on the other end of the phone, snorted impatiently.

“You comin’, right? I've already arranged everything, Carl said he can watch the kids and we will finally meet Debbie's girlfriend.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Great! Debbie says that this one is interesting!”

Ian looked up, he didn't know exactly how he found himself accepting the blind dates his siblings kept offering him, the only thing certain was that every meeting ended with Ian alone in his apartment drinking Diet Coke lying on his old couch wondering what he had done wrong in life to deserve that tragic end. Yet almost once a week he would find himself having dinner with Lip, Tami and some guy from the nearest gay bar.

“Debbie already met him?”

“No, but he's her girlfriend's cousin or something so he's okay.”

“So you set me up on a date with a stranger, dickheads?”

“It will be fine, asshole! Debbie's chick says he's an interesting guy. Have a little faith”

Ian stopped near the ambulance, the chest was open and the stretcher had been abandoned, still open, a few meters away. He placed the phone poised between his ear and shoulder and leveraged his hands to give himself the necessary thrust to get into the car.

"I trusted you the last seven times too and they were all pieces of shit, Philip."

"Listen, dude, this one is different, okay? Debs says that he doesn’t wanted it either. He accepted only like one hour ago. So get off your ass and come here."

The redhead puffed while trying to put on the latex gloves without dropping the phone, in doing so he slipped one of the boxes containing the sterilized syringes. He cursed in a low voice.

"I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? I have a lot more to do."

"Don’t you dare stands us up. You fucking need it."

"I don’t need it, but I’ll see you at seven anyway."

"It’s already seven o’clock, Ian."

Ian checked the phone, confused, the display marked 7:07PM to be precise. He huffed again.

"...and a half. See you at seven and a half. I have to go now, they are calling me. Bye, Lip!"

"Ian, I swear to God if you d..."

He dropped himself next to the sketched box on the floor and sighed tired, still holding his cell phone in his hands, trying to put his thoughts back in place. That was definitely going to be a long night.

When, almost twenty minutes later, he had finally finished putting up the equipment, diligently sterilized and repositioned, he decided it was time to get out of that hospital and swallow some decent food, so he headed over to the lockers to change, freshen up quickly and join his siblings and his mysterious stranger for dinner. However, the bad luck (or not so bad) wanted that, just as he was signing out at the reception desk, one of the nighttime paramedics decided to approach him in panic. Ian stared at him waiting for the man, Dave or Bob or something like that, to catch his breath.

"Gallagher, I know you're leaving, but we have a call and ambulance 123 has a brake problem. The mechanic hasn't arrived yet and the only one who understands anything with that crap is you. Please help us."

"Can't you use the others?"

"Yes, but we will still need that one. Please, Gallagher, don't leave me in the shit with the chief."

The redhead sighed tirelessly, not that he didn't mind giving up a blind date, but he was sure that the next day Tami, Debbie and Lip would give him a good lecture. Nevertheless, he agreed to help the colleague in trouble, followed him into the garage and didn't come out until almost two hours later when it was completely dark outside.

The streets of Chicago were lit only by the dim lights of the street lamps that were dimming as he approached the South Side, not to mention the sky that was completely obscured by dark clouds lit only by various lightning and thunder. The view was not the best, the rain was beating incessantly on the damaged windshield of the car, on the sides of the road, dismayed by potholes and cracks, flowing light streams of mud and dirt carried away by rainwater.

Ian took the phone, Lip had already called him at least a dozen times. He dialed the number and waited three rings before his brother answered the call.

"Lip, fuck sorry but there was an emergency but I'm out now. The street is a fucking hell and I can't see a damn thing..."

"They haven't arrived yet either so you're forgiven. A setback or some shit like that. Debbie's not here yet either. Any good news from you?"

Ian smiled, happy to be able to have a good time during that nightmare of a return trip and to have escaped the usual lecture about his many delays. He thought back to the events of the previous hours and almost failed to contain the excitement as he told his brother about them.

"Lishman says I can apply to take the AEMT test during the week, if it's okay they move me to advanced level".

"That's great, Ian! Finally you can look at all the mutilated limbs you want!"

The laughter of the young man filled the cockpit of the dusty old car.

"Stop it, asshole, every exam is one step closer to that fucking doctor's coat."

"And one step further away from becoming a golden bachelor! Look I gotta go, I think Debbie's here. We'll talk about it over dinner, huh, Doc?"

"See you soon."

He threw his cell somewhere in the backseat and returned to concentrating on driving, had finally reached Homan Avenue and the all-too-familiar bare and dilapidated houses had taken the place of the much newer buildings surrounding the WM Hospital neighborhood. Ian had only moved almost a year earlier and his apartment wasn't really that great, yet every day he looked out the window, the mere fact that he was no longer in Canaryville put him in a good mood. His brothers had stayed in the neighborhood, Debbie, her daughter, Carl and Liam still lived in the old family home while Lip had managed to buy a small house a few blocks away and now lived happily with his partner and their beautiful child, only Fiona had left Chicago, got on a plane and flew off to a new life. And Ian dreamed of doing the same one day. Of course he was still in Chicago, but he felt that the apartment he had just rented was exactly the starting point for his new life. One step at a time and he too would be able to leave everything behind.  
In the middle of his journey of thoughts, the windshield wipers decided to stop working and, within a second, his vision was completely blurred by the rain. Ian cursed loudly, trying in every way to get them started again, but without success. He looked down just enough to take a look at the jammed lever and two minutes later all he heard was the sound of a horn too close, all he saw were two pairs of headlights, he straightened up on the seat, took a big breath.

And then the darkness.


	2. The Couch

“It's just like heaven."”

The apartment they were visiting was essentially a huge room full of Zen stuff and bare plants, there were only three rooms including a tiny bathroom with a weirdly shaped toilet and a small kitchen that seemed to have housed only berries and boiled vegetables. The smell of incense invaded every single corner of the house and the huge Zen garden located right in the middle of the living room seemed to be the main attraction, no TV, no furniture.

"Yes, if you're fucking Gandhi," replied Mickey frankly, looking around for the only piece of furniture that really interested him and on which he would spend all his evenings. "There is no couch. I asked for a furnished apartment, V."

“is furnished!”

Mickey gave her the worst look, raising his eyebrows almost to the hairline and the young real estate agent puffed, tired of her friend's behavior. Without even trying to convince him, she decided to get out of the apartment and set aside yet another idea.  
Veronica and Mickey had been friends for years now, he knew her family and often the young man had helped her husband at the bar with orders and hostile customers, then he left to study and they had not seen each other for years. Only a year before Mickey had returned to Chicago and in that year a lot of bad things had happened, so when he showed up at her door asking her to help him find a cheap apartment, she had not hesitated a moment before accepting. Now, a week later and with more than ten apartments discarded, she began to seriously regret that choice.  
Mickey Milkovich needed a cheap, furnished and possibly off the South Side apartment, a reasonable choice, but so far it had not taken them anywhere. This was due to the fact that Mickey seemed to be only interested in finding a decent couch and had therefore rejected any proposal that V had made him visit. At this rate they would have run out of options.

“Listen, Mickey, there aren’t many other free apartments in this neighborhood. I don’t really know how to help you.”

The woman said, leaving the metal door of the last building visited, Mickey followed her with his hands in his pocket and a funereal expression. When he didn’t answer, Veronica started talking again, stopping on the pavement waiting for her friend to reach her.

"Maybe we could look for a little house on the South Side, nothing too demanding. Hmm...do you know that the apartment above the Alibi Room is free? You could take that one. It's not furnished, but Kev might find some asshole to sell you a couch..."

“I don’t want to stay in the South Side any longer.”

It was the only answer. Veronica thought about it for a moment, looking for the right words to approach the boy, deep down she knew that Mickey's situation was really tragic and that staying in that shitty neighborhood would do him more harm than good. She was about to open her mouth when she noticed the scenario in front of her. Mickey continued to take off a filthy flyer, but it continued to fly over him, sticking to his pants, arms and even face, all seasoned with a series of loud expletives that had forced a mother who was walking around to plug her daughter's ears. The woman came one step closer and finally freed her friend from the terrible paper that was attacking him.

“The fuck are you doing, Mickey?”

She handed him the crumpled piece of paper and the young man grabbed it ready to turn it into a thousand pieces. A writing, however, caught his attention.

RENT FURNISHED APARTMENT + ACCESS TO TERRACE

He didn’t recognize the address, but he was pretty sure it was in that area. Underneath the insert, in smaller characters, there was a phone number and an email and he convinced himself that that was a sign of destiny or some shit like that. He wasn't really the romantic type.  
He gave the flyer to the woman who reluctantly grabbed it, gave a quick peek at the discolored inscriptions and returned to look around, probably trying to find the right way.

“You are fucking kidding me, right? You reject my Victorian apartments, but trust a bullshit ad printed on a piece of crap printer paper found on the floor?"

“Is it around here?”

Veronica pointed out an old building a few meters ahead, it was certainly not the most conspicuous nor the highest in the area. Only three floors, a terrace roof and large windows on the entire facade overlooking the busy street. Without waiting any longer, Mickey crossed the street and reached the old peeling porch. At the windows on the first floor there were large metal bars, but the three steps that separated the door from the sidewalk were high enough to allow a person of average height to climb and try to cut them. Mickey laughed thinking how many times in the past he had done such thefts with his brothers, probably he too was part of the reason why all the windows in that neighborhood were barred. But now he had changed his life, had a steady job (more or less) and was really trying to put the past behind him.  
V reached him a few moments later, the flyer tightened in one hand and the phone pressed to her ear, didn’t stop next to him, but quickly climbed the three steps to the open door.

“I’m calling the contacts, but a place like this will surely have already been rented so don't get your hopes up.”

It turned out that the apartment had not been rented and that the old doorman had a copy of the keys, so the contacts, whoever they were, gave Veronica permission to visit it and now Mickey found himself wandering around those dusty rooms, on the top floor of that old building, like a child in the chocolate factory.  
“They just want a monthly sublet, no annual contract. I can believe no asshole has taken it yet.”  
The woman informed him, following him through the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom and again the living room. Mickey stopped in front of an ajar door and finally turned to look at his friend.

“Why?”

“They didn’t want to talk about it. Family matters...but there is a nice view, uh?”

The living room was large, divided by a high wooden arch, with a beautiful rectangular table in the center surrounded by six chairs, light filtered through two large windows overlooking the entire neighborhood, adorned with heavy dark curtains, all the furniture was extremely dusty as if no one had set foot there for months and the walls were bare nails, a sign that some paintings had been removed. In a corner of the living room, there was the TV area with a beautiful red fabric armchair and a small sofa of the same color covered with cushions of all kinds, a small coffee table separated the sofa from the small TV leaning against the wall, everything was very tidy and yet even there the dust was the master.

Mickey returned to focus on the ajar door and decided to enter it, there was a small flight of stairs leading to a kind of metal hatch rusted by moisture, which Mickey opened not with little effort. The hatch led to a large bare terrace, some pots containing almost completely dead plants were scattered here and there and an old moldy plastic bench was tied to a metal tube, but otherwise there was not much to fill the space. The view, however, was really breathtaking, on one side you could only see the facades of the other buildings, but on the other side, the side of the apartment, you could see Chicago as far as the eye could see. The boy approached the parapet and closed his eyes, inspiring the light spring breeze typical of the windy city, below him a small enclosed garden separated the building from the strangely busy street. A gust of wind caressed his neck and at that precise moment he understood that this must be his apartment, he turned to communicate his decision to Veronica, but his friend must have already understood because she was already on the phone to agree on the price and the contract. When she was finished, she approached the young Milkovich and tapped his shoulder.

“I hope you like it cause I’m meeting the contacts tomorrow and we have no other decent options.”

“I like the couch.”

Mickey murmured, looking in the direction of the trapdoor still open. Veronica looked at him confused, she would never get used to that aspect of the boy, but she decided to play along, seeing him happy was enough for her.

“The couch?”

“It’s a great couch.”

“Yeah...it’s a pretty great couch.”


	3. Spirits and beers

The reason why Mickey Milkovich was so interested in having a decent sofa was very simple: he would spend half his days there. Since he returned to Chicago, in fact, work had begun to become scarce. Not that he didn't get offers, in fact sometimes he even got two or three calls a day, but with Terry always around it was difficult to get around without questions and Mickey suspected that if his father ever found out what kind of work he was doing, there would be trouble. Then, a few months after he came back, the thing happened and Mickey couldn't work like before. That's why he now spent most of his days lying on the comfortable couch in his new sublet apartment drinking beer and watching old replicas of horrible sitcoms he used to watch with his brothers.  
He had had the apartment for almost a week and had already managed to make it a pigsty. A shame considering that on the first day he even forced his brother Iggy to help him dust. Now the living room was not dusty, but in return empty beer cans were scattered on each shelf, some old magazines were lying on the floor and a bunch of old unfinished projects lay abandoned on the table. Even the bedroom, a nice rectangular room with a big double bed in the middle, was a disaster, Mickey had a bad habit of leaving his dirty clothes on the floor and the bed was undone, the big window that was right above the headboard of the bed was open and was the only source of clean air in the whole room. Well as clean as the air in Chicago could be considered clean.  
The kitchen was perhaps the only room in the whole house that was not a disaster, but only because Mickey never used it except to take a few beers from his stash in the fridge. Not that he didn't know how to cook, but for some time now he had made a habit of ordering take-away and knew that this would make him die sooner than expected, but deep down he didn't really think there was a valid reason to go on living.

Even that night he was perched on the couch with a beer in his hand while the TV was broadcasting an old episode of Criminal Minds and the boy could not help but think back to all the times his sister had nagged him about that damn series, eventually convinced him to watch almost every season with her and Mickey had even stopped pretending to be bothered. But now all he felt when he looked at it was nausea and an unbridgeable emptiness in his stomach.  
When he realized that he had finished yet another can of beer, the clock marked 11:45PM and the episode was over. Mickey didn't even bother to turn off the TV before he got up to go to the kitchen. He had been drinking a lot more than usual for some time, he knew in his heart that he had to get his act together, but alcohol was probably the only thing that stopped that annoying little voice buzzing in his head, telling him to put an end to that shitty life. So he took a can from the fridge and went back to the living room thinking, just for a second, to take a pencil and get to work on that project that he had started yesterday and abandoned after half an hour (he must have been really drunk to have even thought about it), but then the condensation of the can wet his hands and this was enough to make him give up. He would have thought about it another day.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

Mickey dropped the beer that exploded on the floor splashing liquid and foam all over the floor, stepped back, scared, trying to avoid the can carcass and turned to the source of that unknown voice.  
Standing next to the couch there was a guy that Mickey had never seen before, he was a few inches taller than him (okay, maybe several inches), but he still looked a few years younger than him, he had pale skin sprinkled with freckles and thick disheveled red hair. He was wearing a perfectly ironed white shirt and a pair of light-colored jeans that looked quite new, clothing quite unlikely for a suburban thief, Mickey thought.

“No, who the fuck are you?”

Mickey was ready to face the intruder with his rougher tone, ready to kick his ass. The stranger crossed his arms to his chest and took a step back, squaring the boy from head to toe. Mickey agreed that he must have looked rather scruffy and that between the two of them he was certainly the one who most resembled a thief.

“Look, there's nothing to steal here. There is a homeless shelter two blocks from here, you can take the money for the cab if you want, but you have to leave”.

The stranger said, carrying his hands forward as if he were in front of a rabid dog or something, Mickey thought to jump on him and take that miserable look off his face by punching his teeth.

“I am not a fucking homeless person, this is my home. Don't make me take the gun, asshole.”

The look of the red changed, now he looked at him with regret, as if he thought Mickey was crazy, which definitely made him angry if possible even more.

“It's not your house, it's my house. Have you escaped from some nursing home? Do you have an ID bracelet or...”

“The fuck are you talking about?!”

Mickey was on the verge of a hysterical crisis, was it possible that the owners had scammed him by renting the apartment to another person? In that case, he would have added their names to the list of people to beat up, but before calling Veronica and forcing her to get their number, he had to take care of the lunatic in his living room who kept looking at him as if he were the crazy one.

“Look, it must be a fucking scam. Those assholes must have rented it to more people to make money or some shit like that.”

He tried to explain with all the calm he could find, not much to be honest, he took a step towards the sofa and the stranger made two backwards so he decided not to go any further.

“I've been living here for almost eight months, don't you think it's a bit silly to rent it now with all my stuff inside?”

“Eight months? but if it has been free for three months. Are you fucking high?"

The red-haired guy walked around the couch at great pace, on his face was clearly visible the disgust he felt when he saw the trash Mickey had left around, not that it was his business anyway. Without giving the shorter one a further glance, the intruder moved towards the dining table, fixed a precise point on which not long before Mickey had spilled some broth that he had never cleaned and that had now encrusted on the wood.

“This stuff is mine. The sofa, the TV, the coffee table...everything! And I don't know who the fuck you are, but before you go you have to clean up this fucking pigsty you've created. Do you know how much that table cost me?”

The stranger kept walking until he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving a stunned Mickey in the living room in the middle of a puddle of beer that was beginning to get sticky.

“But when the fuck did you get in?”

He asked in a loud voice, but didn't get any response, in fact from the kitchen came no sound and Mickey began to think he imagined everything. Either that or the guy had passed out on the floor of his kitchen. He came into the room cursing, but there was no red-haired giant, and yet he was sure he hadn't seen him come out. He also went around the apartment just in case, but there was no sign of the stranger and even the door was still locked just as he had left it that afternoon. He put his hand on his face and gently massaged his temples thinking that he had gone too far with the beer and that he had really imagined everything, maybe he was just going crazy and the hallucinations were just the first step. However, he decided to clean the living room, throwing the empty cartons and cans and giving a quick mop on the sticky floor, just to prevent his new imaginary friend from visiting him again. When he was done he decided to take a nice hot shower and go to sleep, sure he could forget the whole thing with a few hours of restful sleep.  
The shower lasted longer than expected because Mickey decided that staying under the hot jet was a good remedy to get rid of the hangover, he was not sure it was true, but it didn’t matter. When he came out the small bathroom was full of steam and the oval mirror hanging above the sink was completely fogged, Mickey, still completely naked, passed his hand and stared for a few seconds at his own reflection, he was a mess.

“You are still here?!”

The reflection of the stranger appeared next to his and Mickey jumped while with both hands went to cover his genitals. Stupid move, he said to himself, since that was definitely a hallucination, since when he turned to face him the boy had already disappeared.

“Can I know why the fuck you made me come here at this hour, Mick?”

Iggy was leaning against the streetlight at the side of the road and with that dim light only illuminating his dirty hair and part of his face, he looked like the worst drug dealer, but at the time Mickey wasn't in the mood to make jokes. When he called his brother and asked him to meet him at the sandwich shop underneath the apartment, he hadn't really thought about what to say, but in the last few months his brother had been the only thing in his life and now that he was going crazy he felt he needed to talk to him about it. But now that he was in front of him didn't really know where to start, did he just had to tell him what the problem was? Or did he have to pretend that everything was fine and only then talk about the hallucination? Which option would make him seem less unbalanced?

“I see a guy.”

He murmured looking down on the intact hamburger he was holding in his hands, Iggy straightened up and although he wasn't looking at him, Mickey knew his brother was smiling.

“It was about time! The last time we set you up a date, you disappeared and now you found one on your own? Great, who is it? Some snob you work for, huh?”

Mickey bit the inside cheek, he knew that Iggy's intentions were noble, it was months that he and Sandy forced him to go out with random people to distract him and Mickey had refused every meeting, but in that particular situation his brother's enthusiasm was totally out of place.

“No, dick-face, this guy...isn’t there.”

“He is straight? Mick...”

“No! I mean that...I’m seeing a guy who isn’t there.”

He took his sandwich to his mouth and took a big bite, all the more so that he didn't have to look at Iggy's ugly face, who slowly understood what the hell he was talking about.

“Like a Hallucination? Are you high?”

“No, I had been drinking, but this guy appeared twice in the apartment.”

“At least he was a hot guy?”

“Iggy, for fuck’s sake, I’m telling you he doesn’t exists!”

Iggy burst out laughing shaking his head, apparently that situation and Mickey practically in the middle of a hysterical crisis, had to amuse him a lot. He punched him in the arm making him stagger and only then the boy stopped laughing and returned to focus on the problem.

“Look, bud, you were drunk. There is nothing strange about that.”

“It does not explain the redheaded that appeared in my house. Should I stop drinking?”

“No! But you have to drink in company, asshole. You've been locked up in that house for a week, you only go out for shopping and for those fucking gardens, how long has it been since you went to a bar? How long has it been since you took a guy home?”

“I never took a g...”

“That’s not the point, Mickey. A year has passed and you're still here crying your fucking head off!”

Mickey threw the rest of the sandwich into the bucket and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, trying with all his might to pull back the tears that threatened to come out. He thought back to that hellish year they had gone through, to the fact that he was the only one in the family who hadn't even tried to recover, because while Sandy, Iggy and Colin had gone out of their way to regain control of their lives, he had continued to blame himself and even ran away from the South Side for the second time in his life. Maybe Iggy was right, maybe it was time to go out and meet new people, it had been centuries since he didn't get laid properly and he was so stressed that he almost gave up even the job he had fought so hard for. His brother put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, a bitter smile painted on his face.

“It’s hard for everyone, Mick.”

When they said goodbye, Mick's heart was a little lighter, it certainly wouldn't have been that easy, but he was willing to at least try. He wasn't ready to face the demon yet, but he certainly would have made it through any hallucination.  
With this brave thought he decided to try to sleep, the next morning he would go back to work properly and he would forget all that story. He threw himself on the unmade bed without even deigning to take off his clothes or get under the covers, the window was still open and let in a light breeze that was not bad at all.

“Jesus Christ are you still here? I’m calling the cops.”

Mickey kept his eyes closed and slipped his head under the pillow, intent on ignoring the problem that was surely the result of the alcohol still in his bloodstream and his sick fucking mind. He couldn't hear the footsteps, but when the boy spoke again he seemed closer, almost as if he was standing next to him.

“Are you deaf now, asshole? How the fuck did you get in?”

“How the fuck did YOU get in.”

Mickey threw the pillow on the other side of the bed and sat down, furious, finding the annoying stranger right next to the bed. He stared at him angrily, holding his gaze and feeling like an asshole because he was taking it out on a big pile of air.

“You don’t exist so get out of my fucking way!”

“You drunk a lot, mh?”

Mickey's eyebrows snapped upwards, caught off guard by that stupid question, it was a hallucination due to alcohol so it was obvious that he had drunk a lot. Even his hallucinations were obviously losing their minds.

“Are you hearing voices or seeing things that aren't quite real to you?”

“Apparently yes, Captain obvious.”

“Are you paranoid?”

“Why the fuck are you asking me all these questions? You're in my fucking head, you should know that.”

“So you are...”

The boy sat on the edge of the bed, Mickey didn’t feel it sinking, but then he remembered that he was literally made of air, so he simply moved as far away from him as possible while they kept looking at each other.

“You must have convinced yourself that you have rented this apartment even though it belongs to me. Simple, a clinical case.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Grab the right pillow.”

The red one pointed to the pillow next to Mickey's butt and waited for him to grab it, which Mickey did reluctantly, without ever taking his eyes off the boy.

“There is a dark spot on the corner, I dropped some juice on it and it never went away. How would I know if it wasn't mine?”

Mickey turned the pillow and took off the pillowcase, in fact there was an orange stain that stood out on the white fabric, certainly he had never noticed it because when he moved the bed was already made and he had not bothered to change the sheets. Why hadn't he done it then? Of all the shit he had done that was certainly the least hygienic.

“The book that you have on your bedside table and that you use as a coaster is also mine. There is my name written in pen. You can check it out.”

The guy said, pointing to a book on which Mickey had well thought to put a can of beer. He did not bother to open it, fearing that the boy was right again, he simply stared at him who was now looking back with apprehension.

“It could be the beginning of a mental illness, you should get a visit. Trust me.”

So he was really crazy? Maybe all that story was a figment of his imagination and the meeting with Iggy was fake too. Maybe he got so drunk that he imagined he had found a home when he hadn't and now he was sitting on another man's bed acting like an idiot accusing him of not existing.

“You think so?”

“Yes. All you see is mine. The pillow, the book, the bedside. There is also a photo of mine right there!”

Mickey looked in the direction of the hand, but there was nothing but a rusty nail and the wall, the red barred his eyes as he stood up and approached the indicated point. He looked around a couple of times, incredulous, then he turned back towards Mickey and this time he seemed furious.

“Where did you put it?”

“What?”

“My picture. It was right here.”

“There was no picture when I arrived.”

Mickey crawled on his mattress and went a little closer to the edge to get a better view, in fact there was a lighter halo left on the wall, a sign that that nail must have housed a frame not long before, but no matter how hard he tried he could not remember a painting that was not some kind of stupid painting throughout the house. The red came close to the dresser on which Mickey had placed the phone and gave him one last warning glance.

“I’m calling the police, you asshole!”

The boy screamed and Mickey jumped out of bed, the last thing he needed was a fucking burglary and theft report, he approached the boy, but before he could stop him he noticed something that gave him goosebumps. The stranger's hand had crossed the phone through and through, it had literally vanished at the exact moment he was about to grab the phone and reappeared seconds later. The stranger whispered and tried again, once again the hand disappeared and reappeared without even touching it.

“What did you do to this phone?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I’ll use the cordless one.”

The boy, who was now a spirit to all intents and purposes for Mickey, continued walked away from the dresser and made to leave the room, but as soon as he crossed the threshold he vanished without a trace. Mickey stared at the scene horrified and incredulous. He looked outside the door and, just as he had done a few hours before, he did not find even a shadow of the strange boy, so he returned to his room and closed the door behind him. Shivering, he sat on the bed and brought his tattooed hands on his head, he couldn't really have just seen a fucking ghost. It was absolutely impossible, ghosts were a distasteful invention that parents used to force children to eat all the fucking vegetables, and they certainly didn't wear pressed shirts and didn't pour juice on the pillows. Yet that stain was right on that pillow, that book was right on that bedside table and a frame was missing on that wall. All things that Mickey had never bothered to notice and that now did not stop tormenting him.

“Are you...Are you still here?”

He whispered, fearful of pissing him off even more, but the spirit did not show itself, it seemed to have literally disappeared into thin air. Mickey then allowed himself to relax a little bit and lie down on the bed, there wasn't much to do until whatever-it-was showed up and he certainly wouldn't sleep in the street, although he doubted very much that he would be able to fall asleep.

“Man, I’m so fucked up.”


	4. Exorcisms

Throughout his short life Mickey had spent so many hellish nights that he lost count, and yet the last one was undoubtedly at the top of the list, it had been even worse than all the nights spent in the cage put together. First, after double locking himself in his room, he changed the sheets with a pair he had brought from the Milkovich's house, threw the stained pillow and the signed book into a corner of the room, promising to throw it the next morning. It didn't matter if that gesture would piss off the ghost, he never wanted to see that stuff again.  
For the rest of the night he had turned over in bed in a vain attempt to close his eyes, hidden by the blankets he had pulled over his head, but any vaguely suspicious noise had kept him from falling asleep and at 6:37AM he decided to get up. He had even mentally prepared a list of things to do to put an end to that unpleasant cohabitation.  
So, after having had breakfast sitting on the outside stairwell, he decided to call Veronica to ask for information about the previous tenant.

"I told you, Mick, they wouldn't talk about it. I think there was some kind of tragedy in the family..."

“So he’s dead?”

"I don't know, but in that case the family would have given up the apartment with a monthly contract, I think it's just temporary."

"But he could still be dead, right?"

“You have to hope so because this is the only way to get a real contract. Some people would kill for an apartment like that."

Although he thought Veronica was just trying to help him, those words were no comfort to Mickey. He kept thinking only of the probably living dead man who kept wandering around his apartment, crossing objects and vanishing into thin air. He decided at that moment to solve the problem even at the cost of resorting to some outside help, even if the mere thought gave him goosebumps.

"Does Kev still have that collection of...books?"

“Why?”

"Can I borrow one?"

“The fuck are you up to? Are you out of your mind, Mickey? I swear to God, if you make Kevin obsess over that shit again, I'll rip your balls off."

Kevin Ball was a lovely family man, bartender and, in his spare time, a decent personal trainer, yet few knew what his greatest passion was and Veronica, as much as she loved to see her husband happy, would do anything to convince him to keep it a secret, but the truth was that the best she could get was to rent a garage in which to store all the books and objects that Kevin had accumulated over the years. Garage that the man had proudly renamed "Abandoned Planet" and which had become a sort of exclusive club for all the nerds and fans of the occult, mysteries and magic of the South Side of Chicago. Needless to say that Mickey, in all their years of friendship, had avoided that topic like the plague.

“Tell me what are you looking for.”

Kevin had just opened the garage door (diligently painted with depictions of UFOs, cauldrons and runes) with a blatant gesture and now he was there staring at those shelves full of bookshelves full of dust with a look so loving that it made Mickey sick to his stomach, who instead stood with his hands in his pocket and his eyes low, afraid of being recognized by some old neighbor nosy. He would have had his arm cut off before admitting that he had gone there voluntarily.

“You really believe in this stuff?”

“Well, you don’t till you do.”

Mickey frowned confusedly, but on the other hand he knew Kevin well enough to have learned to ignore all his ramblings. He went past the friend to have a look around, the shelves occupied all the available walls and were filled with books and objects of various kinds. In the center of the room there was a small plastic table and from the ceiling hung a UFO-shaped chandelier that emanated strange jets of green light. Each shelf was marked with a label, there was the ufology section, the dark magic section, the section on the great mysteries of history...Mickey stopped in front of the shelf "Spirits and exorcisms" and grabbed the first book that happened to him. On the cover there was a smiling guy, surrounded by a strange blue light, the title, written in a horrendous font and of an improbable yellow, was "Guide to the Afterlife", he didn’t even try to understand if he had ever heard of the author.

"That's old, man, you better look for something else if you want to communicate with your spirit."

Mickey put the book back in its place and turned to look at Kevin who was now next to him and looked at him with a big smile, probably overjoyed to be able to talk that crap with a friend.

"I don't want to communicate."

"What kind of encounter did you have? Ectoplasm? Soniferous Ether?"

Mickey stared at him embarrassed and if possible even more confused than before. He thought for a moment to tell Kevin everything, but he called himself an idiot, his friend would put on a whole team of drunk and smelly Ghost-busters that would invade his house so he decided to play it safe.

"Do you think the spirits know they are dead?"

The man's eyes lit up, Mickey watched him rummage through the vast selection of titles in front of him until he pulled out a book bound in black, he looked quite old and Kevin held him like a baby in swaddling clothes. Ruining the mystical aura of that strange book was only the price still stuck on the back and a small alien sticker on the bar-code.

"Some of them don’t, that’s why they wander aimlessly in our earthly world. The moment they realize they are dead, however, they cross over. Science says so.”

"Sure. Cross where…?”

"They walk into the light, dude. They reach heaven, hell or whatever else is in there. You didn’t watch Ghost Whisperer?"

Mickey decided to ignore Kevin's knowing tone and practically ripped the book out of his hands, turning it over in his hands almost as if he didn't even know which way to open it.

"So all it takes is let them know and they fuck off, right?"

"A couple of candles, a closed room and an evocation spell and you're done, man."

Mickey couldn't really believe what he was doing and he would have gladly slapped himself if his hands weren't busy holding two bags full of incense and scented candles. He had borrowed a couple of books from an overly excited Kevin and on the way back, he stopped at a small store to buy the rest to buy what he needed to end that story.  
Once inside the apartment he had closed the curtains, placed the candles in a circle around the dining table, lit a stick of incense and started studying every single spell written in those fucking books. Unfortunately for him, many were in Latin and the few that had been translated into English were so ridiculous that he was ashamed to read it. Yet he found himself reciting one until he had learned it by heart.

“Spirit, awake. Spirit, partake. Spirit, without fear. Spirit, appear.”

After reciting it for the third time and burning his fingers with the candle wax he was holding in his hand (as the book suggests), Mickey decided that that stuff was a load of crap and that he would kill Kevin as soon as he could because he had convinced him to lend himself to that. The poached spirit was nowhere to be found and Mickey strongly doubted that any nursery rhyme would make him appear, so he decided to pull out the heavy artillery. He took a beer from the fridge and approached the majestic mahogany table in the living room, took a look around and opened the can with his finger.

"It would be a real fucking shame if I spilled my discount beer on this nice table."

He folded the can and the liquid began to flow dangerously towards the exit hole, Mickey smiled satisfied and thought he would really spill it when the ghost appeared a few inches away from him with his arms forward and an expression of pure horror painted on his face.

“Don’t!”

“Busted, asshole!”

He straightened the can and took a large sip before placing it on one of Kevin's books, without worrying about getting the yellowed pages wet, and focused on the guy who was watching him, waiting.

"We need to talk so get that fucking look off your face."

“About what? About the fact that I live with a bum?”

Mickey refrained from making any rude comments, it took him great willpower, but he would do anything to avoid being persecuted again by that guy who apparently loves cleaning. He weighed up his next words, rethinking about the examples of conversation with the spirits, reported in the old book that he had clumsily thrown on the table just ten minutes earlier.

“Can you tell me your name?”

"What the hell do you care?"

Although the words, his tone and expression seemed to exude concern and Mickey mentally high-fives himself for perhaps having solved the problem in less than a day.

“I’m Mickey, Mikhailo. And you are?”

He asked with all the calm in the world, looking at the boy with an angelic expression worthy of the best actor in Hollywood. He looked smugly at how the entity, in obvious difficulty, continued to look around for clues.

“I...Ian?”

“Was it a question?"

“My name’s Ian.”

He said a second later, adjusting the folds of his shirt on his chest and looking everywhere except Mickey's face.

“You sure?”

“I think I know my own name.”

Mickey nodded slowly, mentally pinning the first victory, and taking two steps forward to approach the boy who instead took two steps back.

“Ian...have you talked to anyone else besides me lately?"

The alleged Ian took another step backwards, confused and frightened, Mickey almost felt the wheels of his brain turning to try to answer that simple question.

“I...sure. The other day.”

“When?”

“The...the other day.”

Mickey took another step forward followed by a step backwards by Ian, they were slowly moving away from the table and had now almost passed the arch that separated it from the TV area.

“Okay...and when you’re not here annoying the shit outta me, what do you do?”

“Well a lot more than you do, that’s for sure.”

“Let’s not stray from the point.”

Ian took a further step back and looked down, obviously unable to answer the question. Mickey's defeated expression almost made him tender, but then he remembered that the guy had called him homeless and tried to kick him out of the house just the day before and decided not to let himself be softened.

“I have another question. Has anything traumatic happened to you lately?”

“Like what?”

Mickey came a little closer to him in an attempt to push him exactly where he wanted. As expected Ian walked away, not by much anyway. They were still separated by less than half a meter.

“Like...I don’t know...dying?”

“What the fuck?!”

Ian's voice rose at least an octave and Mickey reached out, without really thinking about it, one hand to try to hold him, afraid that the other could disappear into thin air. The hand, however, pierced his arm and Ian practically jumped back, while Mickey began to shake it as if being dead could be contagious.

“Don’t touch me, asshole! I think I would know if I was dead.”

“Listen, I don’t give a shit, You’ve to walk into the light!”

Mickey said, tapping one foot on the ground, Ian crossed his arms to his chest and frowning at him.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Walk into the light, Ian!”

“I’m not fucking dead!”

Mickey, prey to an attack of nerves, pointed to his legs and Ian, looking down, whitened completely. He was literally in the middle of the couch, his legs could no longer be seen and in general his figure disappeared under his torso, leaving room for a pile of cushions and fabric. He went back to look at Mickey nodding with conviction.

“What’s happening to me?”

“You’re dead.”

In a fit of rage, Ian threw himself forward to give him a push, but his hands disappeared into the other guy's chest and reappeared on the other side. Mickey looked up, exasperated.

“Missed.”

The redhead tried to hit him again without success. Mickey smiled and took a few steps back to avoid being touched again, but Ian went after him and started tormenting him by sticking his hand in his head in an attempt to drive him to exasperation. The dark-haired guy tried in every way to move because that simple intrusion (if it could be defined as such) had given him a headache.

“Listen, dude, it’s not my fault you’re dead. Leave this house.”

“You leave it!”

Ian threw himself forward, in a last attempt to give him a push, but this time it was too strong and his whole body went through Mickey's and then disappeared out the window. Mickey looked out, but as expected, there was nothing outside, he smiled satisfied and closed the window with a not very delicate click.

“Rest in peace.”

“Nope.”

He turned around and Ian was in front of him again, intact and perfect as if he hadn't just flown out of a window on the third floor of a building, Mickey puffed exasperated while the guy was staring at him offended, of all the ghosts in the world, Mickey had gotten the most stubborn. Obliviously.

“I’m not moving.”

And he didn’t.

In the next five days, Mickey had reached a very dangerous limit of endurance even though he tried in every way to ignore the fucking spirit that kept buzzing around him, appearing in the bathroom and in the fridge and standing in front of the TV to stare at him while he drained one beer after another. He had also found that even alcohol couldn't help him in that situation and, indeed, it seemed to make the situation even worse, since with every open beer, Ian made a few sour comments.  
Mickey had turned to the worst websites he could find in search of help: he had contacted a priest who called himself an exorcist but who had done nothing but wet the floor with holy water while Ian, undisturbed, sang the chorus of "Livin' On A Prayer" at the top of his lungs. Then he had tried it with two stupid nerds who had a website called "The Spirit Catchers", but they too, after showing up at dusk and only destroying half the apartment with their useless appliances, had been kicked out of the house without receiving any compensation. He had even asked in a blog of crazy people advises on how to exorcise a demon and now had no more options.  
The last, desperate attempt was to call Kevin who showed up with a case of beers and a sneer that Mickey would have wanted so much to punch. Nobody had ever believed him, but it was years that Kevin claimed to have a gift and to be able to communicate with the spirits and the fact that Mickey himself had called him was a great victory.

“It’s here?”

He asked, sitting on the sofa, unaware that Ian was staring at him sitting right in the front seat. Mickey leaned against the backrest and sighed tired.

“He can’t see me, either.”

Ian mocked Mickey who had decided to ignore him instead. Kevin opened a beer and looked around, placed a pillow behind his back and stared at Mickey that was staring back while waiting.

“There’s something...it’s hostile. What did you do? It wants you outta here.”

Mickey straightened up and even Ian finally decided to focus on the newcomer and stop harassing the boy.

“This one is good actually.”

“You should move, dude.”

Mickey ignored the satisfied grin of the ghost once again.

“I’m not the dead one.”

“Can’t you feel it, man? There’s like a cancer-causing ray of spirit hate searing right towards your body.”

“I like him, you should have called him immediately, Mick.”

“Don’t call me Mick.”

The boy finally looked at him, but noticed, with regret, that Ian's smug smile had not yet disappeared from his face. How much he wished he could have slapped him. Kevin took another sip of his beer and watched his friend fight with nothing but air.

“You should simply go towards the light. It can’t be that hard, right?”

“There’s no fucking light here!”

Ian put his hand in his shoulder (a hobby he had started to love, apparently) causing him an annoying tingling to which he would never get used and in response Mickey tried to push him away, ending up crossing him.  
Only at that point Kevin decided to intervene, stood up and stood in front of Mickey, right between him and his invisible opponent. Ian moved sideways to prevent the man from crossing him. 

“This one is the most alive spirit I’ve ever been around.”

“What do you mean?”

"That I don't deal with this stuff."

Ian flanked the lowest, curious, and Mickey stared at his friend with a mixture of anger and despair. If Kevin was giving up too, then it was really a desperate case and it would drive him crazy.

“You have a fucking garage full of stuff like that, dickhead!”

“No, man, this one isn’t dead.”

Ian's verse of approval was enough to drive him out of his mind, he was about to throw Kevin out of the house when his friend put his hand on his shoulder and started talking again.

“But you, you have to take care of your self and let her go 'cause seriously, yours is like the darkest aura I've ever seen.”

“He’s a man and he is the one who doesn’t leave..”

“I’m not talking about him.”

Mickey was almost petrified, he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times in an attempt to get air, but his throat seemed to have closed while Ian came one step closer, frowning, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

"She haunts you, Mick. You'll end up hurting yourself even more..."

Mickey stepped back, abruptly taking off Kevin's hand and just stared at his friend, incredulous. 

“Who? Your girlfriend? Oh shit, you got dumped, huh?”

“Mind your fucking business.”

Mickey almost screamed, looking in the direction of the boy and trying to stop himself from bursting out crying in front of everyone, the fact that he couldn't even punch him in his fucking face made it even more frustrating.

"She dumped you for a taller one? Or maybe for someone who doesn't get drunk every fucking night?"

“You don't know what the fuck you're talking about so you better shut the fuck up, asshole.”

Mickey quickly walked away from both of them, tears were starting to push to get out and he wouldn’t have collapsed in front of that asshole who was tormenting him from morning to night. He passed the living room and, without thinking too much about it, decided to go up on the terrace to get some air, slamming the old door that closed with a deaf thud. Kevin watched his friend walk away and shook his head slowly, brought a hand to his cheek and wiped a small lonely tear, because he, unlike Mickey, considered himself a sensitive man and was not afraid to cry in front of other ghost-men. Ian on the other hand observed the scene disoriented and confused, looked at Kevin who for a moment seemed to look back, but immediately returned to look around.

"You better respect the dead, boy."

That said, the man left the apartment and Ian, seized by a sudden revelation, decided to join Mickey. He didn’t even notice that he had taken the stairs, nor that he had crossed the trapdoor, he simply found himself next to the boy who was staring at the street below him, in silence.

“Mickey...”

The boy didn’t even look at him.

“I...I shouldn't have...I'm sorry...”

He tried to get a little closer, but Mickey moved abruptly. Only at that moment, Ian realized that the boy had tears in his cheeks and that he was trembling from head to toe, his first instinct was to touch him to give him some kind of comfort, but he remembered he couldn't do it so he just looked around, observing for the first time that concrete patch that was as familiar as unknown to him.

"I think...I think I took this apartment for the terrace. I wanted to make a garden out of it, but maybe I suck at plants..."

Mickey didn’t answer, he continued to look towards the street below, illuminated by street lamps and pub lights. And at that very moment, Ian realized he couldn't remember anything, he didn't know his last name or if he ever started to design that rooftop garden, or what kind of work he did, or if he ever frequented the places that animated the neighborhood below. He also realized that when Mickey went to sleep or went out of his sight, he simply ceased to exist. That Kevin had been the only exception. Mickey was the only reason why he still existed and now the boy hated him and would probably ignore him until he disappeared forever. For the first time he was really scared

“Who was Kevin talking about?”

“Mandy. Her name was Mandy.”

He murmured in half a voice, avoiding to look back and trying to dry his eyes with the sleeve of the sweatshirt. Ian lowered his gaze to the ground, mortified.

“Who was Mandy?”

Mickey took a big breath and overcame the boy, intent on getting out of that house as soon as possible. He would call Iggy and go out with him to get drunk at the Alibi Room, at the cost of losing consciousness and passing out in the bathroom. All in order to suppress that annoying memory that had come back to haunt him once again.

“Mickey?”

“She was my sister.”


	5. EMT

"Mickey, where are you going? Mickey!"

After making arrangements with Iggy to meet at the bar, Mickey had left the apartment in a hurry, hoping to leave that bad night and the annoying spirit behind him, yet now Ian was following him along the road and he didn't seem to want to keep his mouth shut so Mickey had decided to ignore him and speed up the pace. Chicago night air was cold, but Ian, covered only by his usual ironed shirt, didn't even seem to notice it.

"Mickey, can you please just stop for a minute??

Mickey continued on his way, with his head down and waling fast, until he reached a small dilapidated pub on the corner of a dark alley lit only by a hideous neon sign. He approached the peeling door and peeked inside through the stained glass of the entrance, Iggy was leaning against the counter, intent on whispering who knows what in the ear of a woman that Mickey had never seen. He was about to open the door when Ian stood in front of him, spreading his arms as if he could really hold him back from entering.

"Alcohol wont help, talking does. Talk to me."

"I don’t want to talk about it."

"Then let's look for another way! But in doing so you will ruin yourself."

"How would you know? Do you at least remember ever entering a bar in your whole life?"

Ian remained silent, thanks also to the hate-filled look that Mickey gave him just before crossing him and entering the bar. Yet that boy was his only hope to remember what had happened to him and maybe save him so Ian couldn’t really allow him to ruin his life like that. He appeared next to him again just as Mickey was flanking a small group of people, the dark-haired guy greeted them with a wave of his hand and sat down at the bar, next to an already visibly tipsy blond.

"Look who’s here! Fuckin’ finally!"

Iggy lifted the already half-empty beer mug in the direction of his brother who just smiled shyly, together with the boy there were three other people, including the woman he had seen from outside, and they all had a drink in their hands and smelled terribly like alcohol.

"Mick! Mickey, she’s Vanessa..."

"Clarissa."

The blond and the girl looked at each other confused for a few seconds before bursting out laughing in unison, followed by the rest of the group.

"They are, ehm, Jody e Dave! I just met them."

The two strangers raised their drinks and one of the two, the less drunk one, even tried to reach out to Mickey who reluctantly shook his hand without reciprocating the smile that the guy was giving him.

"What are you having, Mickey? It's on me."

Mickey smiled to who he imagined was Dave and nodded to the bartender to give his order, it was then that Ian reappeared next to him and Mickey almost had a heart attack.

"A coffee."

"A beer."

"No!"

"A large one."

"Are you fuckin’ kidding me, Mickey?"

The guy turned to the small group again and smiled, trying to ignore the petulant redhead who was now repeatedly sticking his hand in his head, mumbling loudly. Mickey tried to escape the attacks, lowering his head and moving left and right ungainly, Iggy put his hand on his shoulder to stop him and the boy remembered he was in public and that no one else but him saw Ian.

"Still having problems with hallucinations?"

"No. It was just lack of sleep."

"Ah! Lack of sleep? You sleep about twelve hours a day."

Ian replied before taking another good shot at Mickey's head, who once again simply lowered his head and turned to face him, not noticing the confused looks of the group and, in general, of all those present.

"Nine at most.”

"My dad's a junkie and he's still more alert than you."

"Who made you my mother?"

Iggy cleared his throat, evidently uncomfortable, trying to attract the attention of his brother who had now started talking to himself apparently, put the beer mug on the counter, next to the one Mickey had not yet touched.

"So...so you’re fine now?"

"Great, Igs. What were you talkin’ about?"

The four of them looked confused for a few seconds, then Clarissa burst out laughing again and clapped her hand on Mickey's chest as if he was simply the best comedian in the world, Jody and Dave started laughing too and Mickey was grateful to be surrounded by a bunch of drunk idiots. He grabbed his glass, but Ian stood in front of him again.

"Don’t drink. Say goodbye and let’s go home."

"Or?"

Mickey brought the glass to his lips, without looking away from his enemy, but suddenly he was shaken by a shiver that ran all over his body and watched helplessly his arm reposition the glass on the counter. He fought with all his strength to get the better of Ian, who had taken possession of his body and who now maneuvered him like a fucking puppet. He moved the glass in his direction, but only slipped it onto the counter as Ian prevented him from raising his arm.

"Dickhead."

He murmured tightly while trying to get close to his beloved beer, Ian forced him to stretch his arm and a large amount of liquid escaped from the glass and soaked the floor. Iggy watched the scene with barred eyes, certain that his brother had completely lost his mind and that now it would be up to him to find him a decent nursing home.

"Mick, what’s wrong with you?"

Mickey managed to bring the glass to his lips and tried to drink the remaining beer, but Ian forced him to take a turn around and pull his arm away again. The beer flew straight to Dave's head who, although he still had tears in his eyes from the laughter just before, was now definitely confused and maybe a bit scared. The glass now empty ended up on the floor and Mickey cursed in a low voice while, against his will, he headed towards the exit of the bar. He entered the dark alley and only then, Ian decided to come out, Mickey fell forward and had to support himself by leaning his hands on the dirty cement to avoid hitting his face on the ground.

"You’re welcome."

"You made me look like an asshole in front of everyone!"

"Oh please! They are so drunk that in an hour they won't even remember it.."

Mickey got up from the ground and tried to clean his pants and palms of his hands from dirt and probably piss. He decided to go further into the narrow alley, sat down on a dirty closed dumpster and light a cigarette to try to cool off a bit, but Ian appeared next to him with his hands crossed on his lap and his eyes low.

"Why the fuck are you still here?"

"I don’t know, Mickey. You are the only one who can see me and when I’m not with you it’s like I don’t even exist. I wish I could leave you alone, but I can't, you know?"

Mickey looked up at the boy who was looking at an indefinite spot under their feet and seemed lost in their thoughts, if ghosts had thoughts. Mickey realized only at that moment that this situation was not a ball and chain just for him, Ian was literally a ghost, he didn't know anything about his own life, he didn't know if he was still alive. Hell, as far as he knew maybe he wasn't even called Ian.

"Maybe I’m really dead..."

"Maybe I was wrong and you’re not dead. Maybe you’re just...I don’t know..."

The guy hinted a faint smile and threw a glance in the direction of the black-haired boy who was looking at him instead.

"I don’t even remember who I’m, instead the more I try the more it seems that memories seem to escape me..."

Mickey took a puff from his cigarette, threw out the smoke and bent back, resting his head against the dirty, damp brick wall behind them. He giggled when he saw Ian's pleading expression and slowly shook his head.

"I don’t know how to help you."

"You are the only one I can ask for help. If we met, there must be a reason, right? Or you're just an alcoholic talking to yourself, sitting on a dumpster, in a shitty alley. it's the only way you can get rid of me."

This time they both laughed and Mickey threw what was left of the cigarette somewhere in the dark, straightened up. Ian jumped out of the dumpster and Mickey turning to look down at him bending forward and resting his elbows on his knees so he could stand at the same height as the redhead.

"How?"

"Well, someone must know me, the other tenants in the building?"

Mickey nodded, in the short time he spent in that apartment, he had never spoken to his neighbors, but occasionally he had passed them on the stairs and, after a first look, none of them had bothered to welcome him. But Ian seemed friendlier than he was and imagined he was the kind of person to help the old man downstairs carry his groceries up the stairs or have tea with one of his neighbor. They agreed to start searching the next day and together they went home.

-

He got up early the next morning, but only because Ian had been screaming in his ear for almost half an hour, eager to find out who he was. After making sure the ghost wasn't lurking anywhere, he decided to take a shower and clean himself up, so as not to look like a junkie and have doors slammed in his face by the whole building. Back in the room, covered only by a towel tied at the waist, he found Ian sitting on the bed trying to grab a pillow, Mickey cleared his throat to attract his attention.

"Get the fuck off, I have to get dressed."

"Nothing I haven't already seen."

He murmured without giving him a glance, too focused on his own failures to worry about the half-naked man staring at him stunned.

"What?"

"Oh? When I tormented you. You should learn to close the bathroom door."

"Get the fuck out."

Mickey walked over, grabbed the pillow that Ian couldn't reach and threw it in his face. The pillow went through him and fell on the mattress and Ian laughed amused before getting up, winked at him and dematerialized who knows where, only then Mickey really began to prepare himself.  
The tour of the neighborhood was easier than expected, there were only six apartments in the building, two on each floor, not counting the janitor's keeper, and all the tenants were very friendly, except a lady on the second floor who, upon seeing Mickey's tattoos, slammed the door in his face after calling him the son of the devil. Ian had reassured him that he would never make friends with a lady like that, but Mickey still wanted to kick her ass. Unfortunately, however, the answers were almost always the same, some claimed that no one lived in the apartment, others that they rarely saw the previous tenant and that he didn't talk to anyone anyway, even the janitor said he didn't even know his name and that he had helped him only once during his stay.

"I was a ghost before I was dead…" 

Ian murmured disconsolately. The two of them had returned to the third floor and were now in front of the door of the last apartment. Mickey knew that it was inhabited by a boy maybe of his age because he had passed him several times on the landing and he was the only one who had said hello to him, not that Mickey had ever reciprocated anyway. He approached the door and rang the doorbell, followed by a very demoralized Ian. Not even a minute later, the door opened and a very well dressed boy appeared. He was wearing a long-sleeved colored shirt that seemed to be quite expensive (although Mickey had never seen anything uglier) and a pair of fancy silk pants, he was about the same height as Mickey and had thick red hair and two big blue eyes. The boy smiled radiantly at the sight of his neighbor and even Ian seemed to get his hopes up as he lowered himself to whisper something in Mickey's ear.

"I like this one, maybe we were friends."

Mickey hinted at an amused smile before returning to focus on his neighbor who was literally checking him out from head to toe.

"Mickey, right?"

"Yeah...I’m the new..."

"I know who you are. I’m Byron, nice to meet you."

The two shook hands and Byron smiled noting the tattoos on Mickey's knuckles. Ian meanwhile smiled enthusiastically observing the new guy and possible answer to all his questions.

"You want to come in?"

"He seems nice, ask him about me, Mickey!"

Mickey shook his head, uncomfortable (he had never liked to talk to strangers and in one day Ian had forced him to talk to an entire apartment building), so he looked it Ian to find the right words whom smiled beaming at him and nodded towards Byron.

"This will take a sec. Did you know the guy who was in my apartment about three months ago?"

Byron frowned, perhaps surprised by the question, and took a few seconds to think, and at that point even Ian seemed to lose enthusiasm. If it took him that long to think about it maybe they weren't that close.

"Yeah, there was a guy, but he was so antisocial. A bit weird to be honest..."

Ian frowned and took a step back and Mickey smiled amused when, looking towards him, noticed his offended expression.

"Maybe we weren’t friends."

"He never took anybody home and never went out in the evening...he was like a crazy cat person, but without cats. Got it?"

Mickey could not hold back and burst out laughing while Ian, behind him, puffed annoyed, even Byron laughed, holding his gaze fixed on the boy's face. Ian noticed how the young man kept staring at Mickey's lips and rolled his eyes, even more annoyed.

"Okay, let’s go. This is totally a waste of time."

Ian said, turning to leave, Mickey was about to follow him, but Byron restrained him by placing a hand on his arm so the guy stopped and returned to look at his neighbor.

"Look...if you want you can come in for a coffee, I know it is not easy to be the newcomer and in this building they are all old..."

"He gotta be kidding."

Ian orbited, again joining Mickey who was now looking at him even more confused and even slightly annoyed that a stranger was touching him without his permission.

"He wants you inside."

"So? Do you want to come in?"

Mickey gasped, shifting his gaze from Ian to Byron and vice versa, unable to make a decision. He wasn't an idiot, he knew that his neighbor was clearly hitting on him and he was also pretty sure that this was an insistent and spoiled kid who wouldn't accept a rejection and Mickey wanted to get the fuck out as soon as possible, but Ian's presence made him extremely uncomfortable, so much so that he almost forgot how to formulate a sensible sentence.

"I...I have lunch plans."

"You can stop by later for dessert..."

"Oh please, there's no way he can get laid with a sentence like that."

Ian pretended to vomit when he heard Byron's melodious tone and slammed his foot on the floor (Mickey didn't hear the thud of the sole slamming on the floor, but at least the gesture was clear) and turned to the other side, sulking. Mickey cleared his throat and took off Byron's hand, smiling slightly.

"I have to go...bye."

The neighbor greeted him smiling softly and whispering a sweet "See you soon" and closed the door just as Mickey rushed to his apartment from across the landing. He leaned against the wall, both hands in his face trying to recover from that strange scene he had just witnessed, Ian instead placed himself in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and a smashed expression.

"Why does he stay at home dressed like that? He lives in a shitty neighborhood, he doesn't need to wear something like that if he's in the house alone."

"Stop."

"Why? Don't you think it's bullshit too? Fuckin' snob."

"Can you shut up for twenty fucking seconds? Being with you is like having a fucking radio constantly on in your head and...here I also forgot my keys, thank you very much."

"How is that my fault?"

"You're the one who rushed me this morning and you wouldn't stop talking, how can I remember to get the keys if I have to stand behind you babbling ass every fucking second?!"

Mickey leaned his forehead against the cold scraped wood of the closed front door, discouraged by the fact that he had to come down again to ask the janitor to let him in and by the awareness of being stuck with Ian for who knows how long.

"There's a spare key under the fire extinguisher"

He murmured distractedly, pointing to the old dusty fire extinguisher fixed to the landing wall and protected by a red metal box, Mickey approached it and checked inside, right next to the fire extinguisher there were two keys, each one with a key ring marking the apartment number. Mickey grabbed his, mentally noting that he had to put it back before going out, and came back next to Ian who had started complaining again, as if he hadn't yelled at him just two minutes before, he opened the apartment and rushed inside, closing the door behind him.

"I'm just saying that that Barry guy, or Byron, seems like the kind of guy who breaks down and cries after fucking, but then kicks you out of the house when he's done. But if you like those guys there, he’s all yours."

Mickey sighed trying to ignore him and headed straight for the fridge, eager for a beer as soon as possible, Ian stood beside him and crossed his arms to his chest, visibly upset.

"Again? You haven't even eaten yet."

"Don't bust my balls, I help you and you let me drink. All clear?"

He took the first can in the row and tried to open it, but the metal tab jumped off leaving the can sealed and a disconsolate Mickey, Ian instead smiled amused and lifted a middle finger towards the boy. Mickey slammed the can onto the counter and opened the tool drawer looking for a knife or anything that would help him ingest his morning dose of alcohol, but as he rummaged through the loose cutlery in the box, he noticed a small notepad on which something had been written. Certainly not his, since the last time he bought a notepad he was about ten years old. He grabbed the object and showed it to the spirit.

"Is this your handwriting?"

Ian approached the new clue to try to read what was written on it, from the notepad fell a sheet of paper that went to rest at his feet and Ian issued an excited verse, finally luck seemed to be on his side. Mickey bent down to pick up the fugitive piece, a slightly faded receipt from a dry cleaner, the date of issue was about three months earlier. On the notepad instead there was an address, but the writing was so messy as to make it difficult to make sense, Mickey recognized only Homan Ave and some numbers.

"Homan Ave...what’s the number?"

"I don’t know..."

"You can’t read your own handwriting?"

Ian scratched his neck and looked at him with an embarrassed little smile, in his defense that address had been written really badly and maybe in a hurry so it would have been illegible for anyone. Plus he was probably dead and with heavy amnesia, for fuck’s sake.

"But we have the name of the street..."

"Yes, a South Side street, you want me to knock on every fucking door in the neighborhood? Know that I don't have a good reputation there."

The redhead sighed disconsolate trying to remember why an address on the South Side seemed so familiar to him, Mickey instead decided to concentrate on the laundry receipt. In the area there was only a dry cleaner and Mickey had noticed it only because Veronica had made him visit the apartment above, however he had no trouble imagining Ian wearing a coat to have it dry-cleaned, and maybe he was one of those guys who quarreled with the clerks for a wrong fold. He smiled between himself and looked at Ian.

"Shall we start from here?"

-

The laundry room, which was located just under a block from the apartment, was a small store full of clothes packed and a large counter that left very little room for customers to move around, behind the counter there was an old lady with white backcombed hair, glasses definitely too big for her skinny face and a pretty floral dress. Mickey and Ian approached her and the woman looked up smiling amiably at the young man, Mickey placed the receipt on the counter and slid it towards her, a move that reminded Ian so much of a drug dealer passing the stuff under the counter. The woman took one look at Mickey's tattoos and quickly grabbed the receipt by holding it to her chest with a protective hand, as if that little piece of paper could save her from being killed.

"Do you remember the guy who brought this stuff?"

He asked, putting her hands in her pocket to avoid giving her a heart attack. Now that he knew he could also deal with the ghosts of strangers, he had no intention of seeing anyone die. The woman took a look at the receipt number before going back to look at him.

"It’s been a while..."

"So you don’t?"

"Of course I do! Hard to forget such a beautiful guy."

Ian smiled slyly listening at the old lady's words and Mickey looked up to the ceiling, but decided to ask a few questions to make sure that the old lady wasn't simply a little bit devalued.

"Redhead, very tall, freckles, alien looking?"

"Him! He left a uniform, but he never came to pick it up...it's still in the warehouse".

"Do you have any info, like a phone number, an address...?"

"Oh no, we don't ask for certain personal things here. But when I think of that boy I only think of sadness and loneliness. A little miserable...poor thing."

"Miserable?!"

Mickey suppressed a laugh while Ian stared at the woman, incredulous and with his mouth slightly ajar and eyebrows raised. He had to admit that that sort of treasure hunt was starting to get to him, especially because every new person he met Ian's ego was always suffering a little bit even though he didn’t want to listen to him complain endlessly. He looked at the woman again and smiled cordially.

"Can I have the uniform?"

The woman got up from her station and walked away behind a high row of clothes, looking for the right dress, at which point Mickey turned to Ian who still seemed offended by the old lady's words.

"I’m not miserable...and I don’t have an alien looking."

"Why did you had a uniform? Are you a cop, bitch? I don’t work with cops."

Mickey mumbled halfway, Ian curled his eyebrows and crossed his arms to his chest, reluctantly looking back at the lower one.

"Maybe I was a miserable and lonely cop and I died on duty!"

"You aren’t d..."

The woman reappeared behind the counter with a large envelope in her arms, threw a look at the boy, who in her eyes was arguing animatedly alone, and Mickey had to shut up and pull himself together. Ian approached the counter and took a look at the package that the lady was laying on it, inside the opaque plastic bag Ian saw a pair of heavy black pants and a strange blue shirt perfectly ironed, he tried to touch them, but obviously he couldn't, so he turned to Mickey for help. The guy didn’t even think about it for a second and took the envelope in his arms.

"Thank you for your time, ma’am...Let’s go, man"

Mickey opened the door to the store and stepped aside to let Ian out first, leaving the old saleswoman stunned and confused by the scene she had just witnessed. The two walked for a while along the streets of the neighborhood, Ian recognized some restaurants and some stores, but nothing to help them in their search and at some point Mickey decided to stop on a bench to smoke a cigarette in peace. He carefully placed the clothes still covered on his lap and leaned against the stone back of the bench, turning his head to look at Ian who was staring at the plastic wrap.

"Don’t you want to take a look?"

"I touched them and nothing happened, I don’t want to see them only to find out this was just another wasting of time"

Mickey slowly passed his hand on the surface of the plastic bag that contained much more than a fucking clue, could Ian really not  
understand how lucky they were to have found it?

"Hey, this uniform will tell us where you worked, better than nothing, right?"

"But it isn’t sure that my memory will come back."

"No, but maybe..."

"Shut up."

"Fuck off, I’m fucking trying to be nice, asshole."

"No, shut up, Mickey. Listen!"

He remained silent and tried to listen, but all he heard was the chatter of passers-by, the desperate cries of a few babies, the horns of cars passing by and, in the distance, the sirens of an ambulance. He looked at Ian in search of an answer, but found him completely absorbed in his own thoughts.

"Ian?"

"The ambulance..."

"Yeah...there must have been an accident. These assholes don't know how to drive anymore."

"No, Mick...let me see the uniform!"

"You sure? I thought..."

Ian nodded with conviction, turning completely towards him, in his eyes was clearly visible the excitement he felt at that moment.  
Mickey tinkered with the scrappy zipper of the complex bag and managed to open it only after tearing off part of the plastic, pulled out the blue shirt just enough not to ruin it, they looked at the sleeves and recognized the American flag on one side and the health symbol on the other. They looked at each other, Ian was smiling and Mickey couldn't help but smile back. He could no longer seem to contain his excitement.

"I am an EMT, Mickey! I used to work with ambulances, but I didn't want to keep doing it. Or maybe I did, but I also wanted to change jobs..."

Mickey listened attentively to every word even when Ian started rambling and rambling trying to put the memories together, then he carefully rearranged the shirt inside the bag and got up to stretch his legs, Ian did the same, but he was so excited that he almost started jumping on the spot.

"Okay so where should we go? Is there a big garage full of ambulances or..."

"No, there's no tag on the uniform, but I think I was working for the mobile unit of a hospital. Ask someone which is the nearest hospital!"

The guy looked around for someone who didn't look like a fucking tourist, saw a couple walking in their direction with grocery bags in their hands and said to himself that they looked desperate enough to be honest citizens of Chicago, so he decided to get closer.

"Hey! What’s the nearest hospital here?"

He asked unceremoniously, looking at the two lovebirds waiting for an answer. The boy looked around, rested his gaze on the girl then went back to looking at Mickey.

"Weiss Memorial Hospital, you need directions?"

Mickey dismissed them with a hasty hand gesture and let them go their own way, Ian was standing behind him and wouldn't stop smiling like a dummy.

"So? The fuck are you smiling for?"

"It’s the right place. I used to work there, I am almost completely sure.”

"As sure as calling yourself Ian?"

Mickey joked, getting another middle finger from the redhead.

"Then let’s find out."


	6. Missing Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not from Chicago and I have no idea how the Weiss Memorial Hospital is, nor if the description is geographically correct so take it as an imaginary hospital and not as the real Weiss Memorial...

The Weiss Memorial Hospital was about twenty minutes from their current location and to get there they had to take a bus as Mickey, much to Ian's disappointment, did not have a car.

"I never needed one."

Mickey justified himself while getting on the first available bus. Ian forced him to pay the ticket, he even tried to convince him to get one for him too, but Mickey reminded him that no one on the damn bus could see him and that he wouldn’t have gone to hell just for traveling without a ticket. Once he accepted his fate, Ian sat next to Mickey, hoping that no one would decide to sit on him. They had decided to sit on some seats at the end of the vehicle and Mickey had sat on the side of the aisle, leaving Ian with a comfortable kennel protected between the window and the other boy's body. Mickey's presence, however, was comforting, no one would have dared to sit next to him, not if he continued to look at everyone in that way and the awareness of not having to cross the body of a stranger, made the trip slightly quieter.

"Nervous?"

Mickey asked a handful of minutes after, Ian kept tapping two fingers on his knee and throwing glances out of the window where streets and long lines of cars continued to follow one another non-stop. The redhead turned his eyes towards his traveling companion and hinted a trembling smile, trying to be as relaxed as possible, but failing miserably. Even an idiot would have noticed his nervousness.

"A bit. I don't know what to expect..."

He murmured in a low voice, Mickey smiled and nodded in response. They spent the rest of the trip in silence and only looked at each other again when the metallic voice of the speakers announced the last stop before the hospital area. Ian instinctively looked for Mickey's hand, tried to shake it, but of course he crossed it and this was enough to remind him why they were doing all this shit, but it didn’t save him a note of disappointment. The dark-haired guy, aware of the distraught expression of the spirit, tried to lift his mood with a joke, without success, and suddenly felt the urgent need to kick himself. He had never been good with people, but at least he thought he knew when the time was right to be silent. Evidently it wasn't like that.

"Here we are."

Ian murmured as he watched the huge building that stood a few meters from the bus stop. The red brick building was surrounded by a large, almost completely occupied parking lot and a small, well-maintained lawn occupied most of one of the facades. Mickey had never been so close to a hospital, Terry had taught him how to fix his own wounds because doctors, like the cops, asked too many fucking questions and in the Milkovich's business the questions were always not welcome, so now that he was only a few meters from the entrance, he didn’t really know exactly how to behave. Ian, on the other hand, seemed far from lost, he kept looking around and whispering something that the other guy couldn’t hear. They walked around the building, with Ian who was walking fast and Mickey who was trying to keep up, until they came to another large square where the emergency entrance stood out. Two ambulances were parked in front of it, ready to leave for who knows where, Ian approached dangerously just as one of them started the engine, Mickey preferred to watch from afar, ignoring the curious glances of the paramedics.

"I used to work here, I’m 100% sure. The closer we get, the more images and names resurface, Mick! I used to come in every morning from here and register at the entrance, then I'd go to the locker room... well it was a closet with lockers and a stupid small sink, but we call it a locker room anyway."

Mickey smiled in front of the chaotic energy of Ian who kept looking at the ambulances as if they were distant cousins he hadn't seen for years, and maybe for the redhead it was just like that. The boy approached him almost running and Mickey pointed out to him that he could not stay in that area, nor enter through the emergency entrance and that they would have to go back to the main entrance to get in.  
The interior was that of a normal hospital, just like all those Mickey had always seen on TV, but the smell of disinfectant invaded the air and the young Milkovich took a few minutes to get used to it without feeling the need to puke. He cautiously approached the large information counter, waiting diligently for his turn without even trying to skip the small line that had been created by other visitors and patients, obviously under the advice of Ian who instead continued to look around smiling cheerfully and pointing out from time to time young doctors and nurses whose memory he had suddenly recovered. When it was his turn, Mickey approached the counter and the woman at the computer gave him a disinterested look, which led him to wonder if all the hospital receptionists were so grumpy. And yet on TV they were all so fucking nice. Fuckin’ liars

"How can I help you?"

The woman asked, in a marked Russian accent, moving her eyes from Mickey's tattoos to his face with such mistrust that the boy regretted all the snobs he had met in his life and who had at least had the decency to be afraid of him. This one seemed so disinterested that it almost offended him.

"I’m looking for..."

"I wan an EMT."

Ian suggested, who had just leaned against the counter with both elbows and was now watching the woman, whom he had called Svetlana, with immense interest.

"...an EMT. He should work for your mobile unit. His name is Ian..."

"Ian?"

The woman's expression changed and, for the first time since he had entered, she looked at Mickey without annoyance in her eyes.

"Ian Gallagher?"

"YES! My surname is Gallagher! Tell her, Mick!"

"Mh...yeah him. Gallagher..."

Mickey murmured, trying not to look in the direction of Ian who almost jumped on the spot for nervousness. Svetlana seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, then asked him his name and surname and apologized to Mickey before she got up from her spot and left to go call another nurse. Ian watched the scene in silence and Mickey found himself biting his nails for nervousness.

"She’s passing the buck..."

"What do you mean?"

"Nobody wants to communicate a bad news so now they're looking for an asshole to send you to and whom will tell you everything, give you condolences and take any reaction you have. Usually it was me...."

Ian smiled at the memory and Mickey had to repress a laugh to avoid passing for crazy in front of everyone present. The receptionist came back a few moments later, sat down in her chair and looked at Mickey with compassion before informing him that he had to go to the third floor where he would find a doctor waiting for him. Mickey tried to ask what it was about, but Svetlana insisted that she had other work to do and that the guy was wasting her time and the guy refrained from insulting her just because Ian had already made his way to the elevators. The third floor, which was completely different from the lobby and smelled even worse, was less crowded, there were mostly doctors and nurses going in and out of different rooms non-stop. A young doctor was leaning against the wall opposite and kept turning a blue folder in her hands with her eyes fixed on the elevators, next to her there was another doctor with a uniform similar to the one they had picked up at the laundry and that Mickey was still holding in his the plastic bag. This one seemed even more anxious than Ian and when he saw Mickey he straightened up and joined him at a fast pace, followed by the doctor. They didn't even stop to look at him like all the other people they had met up to that moment, the girl simply reached out her hand and smiled softly at him while the other one looked nervously around. 

"Mikhailo Milkovich?"

Mickey nodded e reciprocated the handshake of both of them.

"I don’t know who she is, ma he was in my team, his name’s Steve."

"I’m doctor Jackson. I was told that you asked for information about Ian Gallagher?"

"Oh...yeah, I just want to know if he’s okay. It’s been a while since him..."

"I need to know your relationship with Mr Gallagher first."

Mickey will tighten his lips, thinking of the right thing to say. Never in his life would have thought his father's words were right, the doctors asked too many fucking questions.

“Tell her you were my boyfriend. They can’t tell you shit if we weren’t related or close.”

Mickey's gaze, caught off guard, was enough to make Ian understand that this was definitely a bold idea. Is it possible that his colleagues were unaware of a hypothetical boyfriend?

"You were out of town for a while, but we had just started dating and then I disappeared. They'll get over it."

Ian explained, hoping in his heart that Mickey was a fairly convincing liar and that his colleague would not ask too many questions. Mickey returned to look at the two doctors and made a shy smile.

“We were dating.”

“What?”

Steve's surprised tone and confused look alarmed both boys, Ian distinctly remembered that his colleague was married, he even mentioned something about having children and Ian was pretty sure he had never hit on him or had any history with him. He wasn't even his type. So he had no reason to worry that Mickey might be romantically attached to him, unless there was another guy that Ian was still unaware of.

“Do you have a problem?”

Mickey asked, looking bad at the young EMT, ready, if necessary, to start the worst fake jealousy scene that that hospital had ever seen. Steve relaxed his features and sketched an embarrassed smile, slowly scratched his neck and shook his head in response.

“I’m sorry, it’s just weird. Ian lived for his work, he never mentioned a...”

Ian seemed quite offended so Mickey cleared his throat and started talking again, explaining better that they have started dating only recently, that then he had had to leave Chicago for work and that for almost three months he hadn't heard from the boy, that he didn't know his family, but that Ian had told him where he worked. The two doctors seemed to take the bait and Steve couldn't sustain the boy's gaze, so it was the doctor who took the floor.

“So you don’t know about the accident?”

“What accident?”

Suddenly two dazzling headlights invaded Ian's field of vision, he distinctly heard the deafening sound of the horn and the much more delicate sound of the rain beating on the ground. He found himself lying on the asphalt with a painful side and a heavy head, two paramedics kept calling him and giving him large doses of different medicines trying to improve his irregular and almost absent heart rate, while Ian struggled to end the pain. He wanted to scream to stop, Ian was against the therapeutic fury and he thought he was already quite dead, but no words came out of his mouth and he didn't even feel he had control of his body anymore. He felt cold. It wasn’t an annoying cold, but a pleasant feeling of freshness. He also found himself thinking about the magnificent garden that he had only visited in a dream and imagined himself lying in the flowerbeds, in absolute tranquility with only the sweet chirping of the sparrows to keep him company.  
Suddenly he found himself back in the hospital, but he was no longer next to Mickey, but in a completely different room, surrounded by large windows overlooking the parking lot. On the windowsills there were photos, greeting cards and confusing drawings full of colors, turning around Ian saw the bed on which his body rested blissfully, intubated and connected to several machines, including an electroencephalogram device that marked a long and constant horizontal line, a sign that the brain activity was completely absent, the ECG instead marked a slow and constant "beep". Ian approached his figure and examined his face, every wound he might have had was almost completely gone, on his left cheek he had a small lighter scar, but otherwise he looked like just one of the many sleeping patients in that hospital. The door opened slowly and Ian turned around just in time to see Mickey make the end of the line inside.

“I can give you only thirty minutes, then I have to ask you to leave the room. Okay?.”

The doctor said, before closing the door behind Mickey. The boy approached the bed, joining the spirit of Ian who continued to watch him, waiting for any reaction.

“You were gone.”

“I remember everything, Mick. I’m not dead yet, but...”

The voice died in his throat, perhaps he would have even preferred to be really dead than forced into that vegetative state.

"Your colleague said you died for almost ten minutes, then your heart started beating again. They had to operate on you, but..."

“...But there is no breast of brain activity. I am in a persistent coma.”

He finished, looking at the horizontal line on the monitor again, Mickey, who didn't understand any of that stuff, thought it wasn't a good thing and decided not to investigate any further. But he concentrated on the boy's body, he had no visible wounds and, beyond the tubes that came out of his nose and mouth and the fact that he had no spirit, he did not seem to be particularly sick. It simply seemed like Ian was resting peacefully.

"Maybe you have to try to reconnect with your body. Try touching your hand or something."

Ian nodded and stretched one hand towards his body, tried to touch his arm, but just as with any other human being, it went through him without success.

"Try to grab it like you grabbed me at the bar."

Mickey insisted and Ian decided to try, he focused on his body and wished with all his heart that he could take control of it. Mickey saw him disappear and thought he had succeeded, but then one arm got up from Ian's arm and shortly afterwards the spirit sat down and came out of the body little by little.

“Come out, it’s fucking weird.”

He mumbled as Ian looked away from his body and stood next to him.

“There’s nothing to do, maybe is too late...”

“There has to be a way, Gallagher. Move.”

“Why?”

“You go next to the window and turn around, I want to try one thing.”

The boy did as he had been told and approached the windowsill of the large window, Mickey behind him approached the bed and touched gently the boy's unarmed hand. He looked at the spirit and saw that he was caressing his hand, right where he had just touched him. He decided to take his hand between his own and Ian turned around, holding the other hand, Mickey let go and looked at the boy again.

“You felt that?”

“Do it again.”

Mickey touched the boy's hand again, then gently caressed his cheek, passing his thumb under the eye to remove a fallen eyelash. Ian smiled and bent his head slightly to the side, inebriated by the heat that Mickey's hand was giving him even at a distance.

“You’re still connected with your body, you just have to find a way back in.”

Mickey walked away from the crib again and approached Ian, not noticing the wounded look of the boy who now felt no warmth and already missed it.

“But I can’t.”

The redhead turned again towards the windowsill and looked at all the sheets and frames that had been laid on it, he thought back to his siblings and nephews who probably visited him often. Franny was about 7 years old while Freddy had turned 3 just six months earlier, who knows how much they had grown in those three months of absence. Mickey stood beside him and smiled at the sight of the countless photos of the boy. He lingered on a large frame containing a family photo, everyone smiled and hugged on the wooden steps of a large house, Ian, much younger, was next to a short brown-haired boy with a pestiferous grin and held his arm as if trying to hold him back from punching another red-haired girl, turned towards him.

“You have a big family, huh?”

“We are six. We lived in the South Side, in canaryville, then I had this job and I decided to move. I dreamed to building my life away from that place like Fiona did. This one is the pic I used to have in my bedroom, look...”

Ian pointed to a much smaller frame, inside there was an old picture of Ian, he was wearing a light blue T-Shirt and a hat that left out only a few red locks, Mickey passed his thumb on the frame and took it in his hands, then turned to smile at the boy.

“You look good.”

“I was seventeen, I wanted to be a soldier.”

He smiled and looked at Mickey with tears in his eyes, he did not cry easily, but the situation was so great and tragic that he couldn’t hold back. The guy smiled meekly and looked at the big clock hanging on the other side of the room, he noticed with disappointment that he had already run out of time.

“I’m gonna have to leave soon...Want to stay a bit alone?”

Ian pulled up his nose and shook his head slightly, looking back at himself in the hospital bed.

“You can go. I don’t...I don’t want to leave.”

“You don’t want to came back with me?”

Ian shook his head again and quickly wiped a tear that had just escaped his eyelashes. Mickey instead nodded and put his hands in his pocket, helpless in front of that harrowing scene.

“Than you for helping me, Mick.”

The two of them smiled then Mickey turned to leave the room, but Ian appeared in front of him, his cheeks slightly reddened and his eyes low and Mickey locked himself in place, waiting.

“Before you go, could you do something for me? Could you...”

He pointed with his head at the bed and touched his own hand, in great embarrassment, Mickey smiled tenderly and nodded, realizing what the boy's request was. He took his hands out of his pockets and came back next to the bed, grabbed the boy's cold hand again and squeezed it between his own, the spirit carried his hand close to his heart and smiled weakly, closing his eyes to imagine that he could reciprocate the squeeze. Then Mickey bent over the bed and gently laid his lips on the boy's forehead, Ian, from across the room, felt a strong warmth, a sense of protection and security that he hadn't felt for too long. The door to the room opened as Mickey was getting up, the doctor stayed at the door and informed the young man that she could not let him stay any longer so Mickey walked away from the bed and joined her on his way out. Before closing the door behind him, however, he looked in the direction of the spirit who had his eyes fixed on him with shiny eyes.

“Goodbye, Ian.”

He crossed the corridor under the eyes of the doctors who watched the scene, curious. Once he reached the atrium, however, he was joined by Svetlana, who had left at her station a nurse randomly fished out of the many who came in and out of the hospital.

“Is it true you were dating?”

He asked without even bothering to seem indelicate, Mickey sketched an annoyed smile and looked at the woman, a few inches taller than him.

“Yes.”

“How? Gallagher never went out.”

“I live in his...building.”

The woman frowned, then seemed to relax and Mickey let out a sigh of relief, stepped back and indicated the exit with a nod of the shoulder.

“I have to...I have to go.”

“Sure. I’m sorry by the way, it must not be easy to have to say goodbye to someone in this way.”

“It isn’t.”

It was the only answer before he turned around and walked away from that hospital (and from Ian) as quickly as possible, unaware that behind him Svetlana had joined Steve and two other paramedics beside the reception desk. Ian appeared right next to the group, recognizing his two colleagues, or former colleagues, who were still looking toward the sliding doors were Mickey was just a few moments before.

“At least they got a chance to hang out for a little while.”

Sue said, drying her eyes with the back of one hand, Steve wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her tight trying to comfort her. Tessa and Svetlana exchanged a sad look.

“What a pity if he had left without ever having loved anyone, right?”

Ian walked away from the small group and found himself back in his room, next to his helpless body. He tried to touch himself again, but he gave up before he even reached his own hand. He focused then on the feeling of warmth that he had felt a few minutes before, when Mickey was kissing his forehead, but it had disappeared just like Mickey. He let himself go into a liberating cry, well aware that no one could hear him or see him. He didn’t know that a few kilometers away, sitting in the last row of a bus, Mickey also cried quietly, trying with all his heart to stop those tears that scratch his cheeks.


	7. a burden to the heart

The two weeks and one day spent in the hospital were the longest and most difficult in Ian's life (or post-life).  
Every other day his siblings would visit him, Franny and Freddie would always bring lots of beautiful colored drawings and sit on the bed to tell him about their daily adventures, Ian would sit next to them and listen to them with tears in his eyes. Lip, Liam, Carl and Debbie, on the other hand, always stayed a little bit further away, they would approach their brother's body just to fix the sheets or move his hair from his forehead, but Ian was fine with that, it hurt less to look at them from a distance because he knew that if they came closer he would see the pain in their eyes and there was nothing he could do to help them. Once they had even video-called Fiona and on that occasion, Ian had learned that his sister had been in town just after the accident and that she wanted to stay in Chicago, even at the cost of losing her job, but luckily Lip had insisted on getting her back on the road and Ian would never be grateful enough.  
His colleagues, on the other hand, spent every free moment with him, often had lunch in the room together (although hospital rules categorically forbade it) and Ian liked to sit next to them and listen to their stupid stories and Steve's silly jokes. He even tried to follow them in the ambulance, but as soon as he came out of the hospital he simply disappeared and magically found himself in his room again, alone, as if without Mickey he wasn't allowed to get out of that place.

Mickey.

He tried to think about him as little as possible and had convinced himself that the guy was just a means to recover his memories and that now he had no reason to worry about him anymore, yet every time he heard the soft squeak of the door, Ian hoped, deep down, to see him enter the room. The truth was that Ian also missed their constant bickering, after all he was the only one he could really talk to and who could answer him and being in his company was really enjoyable. He had even thought about visiting him, sure he wouldn't have disappeared if he had tried to materialize in his old apartment, but in the end he had let it go. Mickey was probably living his life blissfully now that he didn't have to chase the stupid ghost that had been haunting him all that time for almost a month. So now Ian was spending his, probably last, days sitting on his bed talking to his inanimate body and waiting for some development in that bizarre story.  
Just one of those days, while he was reciting from memory one of the poems that Franny had dedicated to him the last time she visited him, the door to the room opened and two doctors came in whispering to each other. Ian recognized only Ned Lishman, the department head who, only four months before, had promised to speak with some supervisor to make him take the necessary tests to get up to grade. Dr Lishman had always been very good to him, Sue had also assumed that he behaved in that way because he had a crush on Ian and in fact he felt observed every time he set foot in that corner of the hospital and not even a blind man could escape the languid smiles that Lishman reserved for him every time. Now the old doctor stood by the door with a briefcase in his hand and the worst funeral look Ian had ever seen, as he gave a series of orders to the young doctor standing beside him. Ian thought it might very well be him in that place, with a nice ironed gown and a new pager attached to his trouser belt.

"Are you sure, doctor?"

The younger doctor asked, casting a worried look at the very bed Ian was lying on. Lishman straightened his graying hair and took a deep breath.

"That's what he would have wanted. Let them in."

The young man nodded and, after casting one last glance at Ian unconscious, turned to leave the room. Lishman, left alone, approached the bed and gently placed a hand on Ian's cold arm, sighing severely.

"I had big plans for you.

He murmured in half a voice, Ian felt a shiver running through his spine. The doctor's hand in contact with his skin gave off heat, but not the kind of heat that Ian felt when his nephews took his hand to play, nor what he felt when Mickey touched him, this was less intense, more fake and made him incredibly uncomfortable. Ian would have wanted to move and luckily just moments later the door opened, the doctor walked away from the patient and approached the door from which Lip, Carl and Debbie made their entrance. Franny ran straight to her uncle's bedside and Ian, who was still standing next to the bed, gave her a very sweet smile that she seemed to reciprocate with enthusiasm and to Ian's surprise. He was about to try to talk to her, but just then Debbie decided to take her daughter by the hand and bring her back.

"Thank you for coming."

Dr. Lishman announced in a serious tone, Lip straightened up and Ian could not help but approach, curious, to witness that strange encounter. He listened carefully to the words of the doctor who was praising the hard work of poor Ian Gallagher, reiterating how all the doctors on his staff were extremely sorry to have lost a colleague and special friend and how, although four months had passed, everyone was still incredulous about that tragic lost. As flattered as Ian was by that tender speech, he could barely remember the names of the paramedics outside his team, let alone the names of doctors he had never seen, he certainly knew a few of them, but he had never had a deep relationship with any of them and this made him think that it was just one of those stupid speeches that doctors made to sweeten the pill before the bad news. His siblings, on the other hand, could not have come to the same conclusion and so they listened carefully, nodding from time to time and believing every single word the doctor said.

"That is why we have also given him special treatments and will continue to do so, but I would also like to talk to you about your brother's wishes. Well...do you know what Ian's opinion is, or was, about maintaining artificial life?"

"We have never spoken about it..."

Lip replied with his usual sarcastic tone, Ian almost had a stroke. He distinctly remembered signing a waiver the day he started working as an EMT in that hospital, he had read the part about artificial life support and had quickly expressed the opposite opinion because he was young and these things only happen in movies and he certainly would never need to be kept alive artificially. But there he was, begging his brother to stop listening to that doctor who was proposing to end his life, to pull the plug and stop worrying about him because Ian would have wanted it that way, because there was a document attesting to his will and because the hospital no longer wanted to bear the extra costs due to those extra comforts that they had reserved for a simple low-level paramedic. He continued praying Lip and praying to his little siblings, knowing that no one in that room could hear him.

"Why are you telling us this after four months?"

Debbie wiped one cheek with the sleeve of her jacket and looked the doctor in the eye, the doctor looked back and took his time to respond. "To find an excuse that doesn't make them look like the cheapskates they are" Ian thought.

"You know that insurance covers most of the costs, but it is still a very high expense for your family. Also, beyond Ian's will which is still our priority, there is the dilemma of absent brain functions. In three months the only sign appeared a few days ago and it was still short and insignificant. Your brother is essentially dead. Or at least his spirit is."

"But it’s not true! I am here, Lip. I am here!"

Ian screamed, standing in front of his brother and trying to take his hand. When Lip stepped forward and went through him from side to side, Ian felt himself die even more if possible. Carl looked over to his brother's bed and sighed disconsolately, he took a hand to his hair while Ian desperately tried to get at least his attention, after all it was his family, could they really not feel his presence? The younger brother took some documents that the doctor was passing to him, examined them and frowned, probably not understanding a word of what was written on them.

"Obviously the situation is delicate and we will not do anything without the consent of the family and we absolutely don’t want to interfere with your decision. That's why I want to leave you the forms and you can take all the time you need to decide".

“We’ll think about it.”

Lip took a distracted look at the papers that his little brother held in his hands, knowing that without Fiona and Frank, he would have to sign those documents that would take their little brother away forever. The doctor tried to speak again, but Carl interrupted him abruptly, reiterating their need to think about it and to consult the other family members, then he walked away from the group and left the room closing the door behind him, not without some nervousness, and finally ending the meeting.  
A few minutes later Ian was again alone with himself, literally, and in panic. He had confidence in his brothers and sisters that they would take their time to decide, yet he also knew that Ned's words were true, Ian was in an irreversible coma, probably a fourth-degree coma, and Ian had no recollection of any certified case of awakening from a fourth-degree coma, moreover, brain activity was zero and no one could know that Ian's spirit was wandering free in that room and that he hadn't died yet. The only person was a complete stranger who lived in his old apartment and who had never had any kind of connection with his family. And at that point he had probably completely forgotten about that situation and about Ian.

But Mickey, on the contrary, had not forgotten that experience at all. During those two weeks he had often found himself talking to himself believing that Ian was hiding in some corner of the house, he had even started to clean up the immense disaster that had become that apartment, because he didn’t want to upset Ian, if he ever decided to come home.  
Often Iggy and Sandy would visit him and stay for dinner or lunch to tell him all the crap they had done during their days. Both were pleasantly surprised that Mickey had cleaned himself up and even resumed work and of course they both came to the same mischievous conclusion that Mickey had found someone to help him get his head straight. Mickey had always denied it, but when Byron, during one of their evenings, showed up at his door with the excuse of a broken key, the two of them had dispelled all doubts and Mickey soon gave up explaining that he would not approach his neighbor even under torture, discouraged by the fact that neither his cousin nor his brother would ever believe him.  
As for Byron, he had often shown up at his apartment, each time with a different excuse and each time more and more provocative than the time before and Mickey had often found himself thinking that if Ian had materialized during one of those visits, he would have made an epochal scene because he had the impression that the spirit didn't like his neighbor at all. The last visit of the neighbor concerned a problem with the bathtub that apparently had become unusable and Byron desperately needed to take a shower, so he took the liberty of showing up at Mickey's house with a towel and various soaps, asking to use his bathroom just for that one time. Mickey, who was busy trying to get his head around a project he had shelved months earlier, had shown him the bathroom and went back to work, ignoring the mischievous looks the boy had given him as he passed by. Too busy to even think about accepting his invitation.

“Mickey?”

The boy almost fell out of his chair from fright, looked up and found himself in front of Ian looking at him with a shy smile and a guilty look. Mickey stared at the spirit, out of his mind, before standing up and standing next to him, he looked at him from head to toe even though he hadn't changed one iota, always perfect in his pressed shirt and with his perfectly combed hair.

"I thought you wanted to stay with your body?"

He asked, staring back at the face of the boy who hadn't taken his eyes off him even for a second. Ian scratched his neck and shook his shoulders, embarrassed.

"I needed to talk to someone, no one can see me...what were you doing?"

The redhead peeked over his shoulder, looking at the sheets scattered on the kitchen table. He plucked his eyebrows and went back to look at Mickey who was now frantically looking around.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I..."

“Mickey? Can you come for a moment?"

Byron's voice interrupted them and Ian looked in the direction of the bathroom, confused, while Mickey practically paralyzed himself on the spot, incredulous in front of the immense misfortune that was his fucking life. He looked at Ian, then at the bathroom door, then looked back at Ian, waiting for any reaction from the redhead, unable to find the right words.

"Did I interrupt something?"

"No! No, he had..."

Byron came out the bathroom door, his hair wet and with only a towel to cover him from the waist down. He looked at Mickey and smiled winking.

"I don't want to have to ask you this, but I'm having some trouble getting to my back, could you come to..."

Mickey almost choked with his own saliva, moved his eyes elsewhere and pulled his t-shirt neck slightly, extremely uncomfortable. Ian instead seemed to have just been hit by a truck (again), he felt so much disgust in front of that scene that he refused to believe that Mickey could really be interested in such a cheeky guy. Underneath, he also felt a strange sense of annoyance that he decided not to call jealousy. He looked at the dark-haired guy, next to him and sketched a half smile, clearly false, then cleared his voice and looked at Byron again.

"I can come by later."

He said, grumbled, and as he appeared, he disappeared into thin air, leaving Mickey alone in his discomfort.

“No, Ian..”

“Byron, not Ian...”

The young neighbor murmured, unaware that he had just detonated a bomb. Mickey finally looked at him, he was half naked, standing in his hallway and smiled innocently waiting for Mickey to probably jump on him. How could Mickey have found himself in that absurd situation within an hour? Yet he didn't think he had done anything bad enough in his life to deserve that unholy end. Byron called him a second time, trying to get the boy's attention, but all he got was a pissed off Mickey turning his back to the terrace, without even bothering to answer him or kick him out of the house.  
Mickey approached the parapet, enjoying the fresh evening air and the thousand lights of the city as it expanded before his eyes. He looked around and called the spirit several times, at the same time trying to understand why this situation had bothered him so much. He wasn't stupid, he understood perfectly well that something more profound than a simple friendship was developing between them, but Ian was almost a ghost and moreover they hadn't seen each other for two weeks and probably, if Ian hadn't got bored, they would never have seen each other again, so what did he expect to find?

Ian appeared at his side, interrupting that river of thoughts, the two looked into each other's eyes, at first without saying a word, then Ian moved his gaze beyond the parapet, towards the thousand lights of the city.

"You didn't have to interrupt for me."

He murmured in half a voice, carefully avoiding to look at Mickey again. The latter sighed, took a cigarette from the packet he always kept in his pocket and carried it to his lips, when he realized he didn’t have the lighter with him, mumbled some expletives and took it out of his mouth.

"His toilet is broken and he came here. There was nothing to interrupt, so don't make a scene."

"I'm not making a scene and you're a bit stupid if you don't realize he wants to get fucked."

Mickey gave him a dirty look, if he could have elbowed him in the hips he would have done it, but instead he just shook his head and raised his eyes to the sky.

"You're a bit of stupid if you think I care what Barry wants."

“Byron.”

Mickey shrugged his shoulders disinterestedly and put his cigarette out on the stone wall in front of them, then leaned on it with his elbows and looked at Ian who finally looked back, murmuring a shy little "sorry" before sketching a half smile of relief. Mickey smiled back and waited for the other one to speak again, after all it was him who had come to talk.

"Why didn't you come to visit me?

"I thought you wanted to be with your family."

"They don’t see me. Well Freddie and Franny sometimes seem to be able to, but they are so young that no one would believe them even if they said so. You're the only one who can do it, for some reason."

Ian looked down again and Mickey observed how the boy's features hardened just at the thought of his family.

"Now they want to pull the plug on me."

He finished, without looking at him, Mickey raised his head.

"They can't do that!"

"They can. For the doctors I am dead and there is nothing more to be done. And then to keep me alive artificially costs a lot of money and the insurance won't cover me forever".

"But you are not dead. Maybe I can...I can talk to them and convince them. Kevin can organize a séance or whatever the fuck..."

“Mick...”

Ian approached him one step closer, if it hadn't been made of air, he would have touched his shoulder. Mickey examined his face, visibly desperate, and Ian could not help but smile softly at him.

"You don't have to do this, what has to happen will happen. There's nothing we can do about it."

"But you can't..."

The boy's voice cracked and he had to clear his throat to get rid of that lump that was forming in his throat, Ian raised his hand and tried to touch his cheek, looking at those magnificent blue eyes that looked desperately at him.

"Tell me about Mandy?"

"Now?"

"You never did."

Mickey nodded and took his hand to his nose, rubbed it with his back and looked away, Ian stepped back and sat on the wall, waiting for the other one to speak.

"My...my mother ran away from home years ago, Mandy was his only daughter and looked a lot like her, she had the same look, the same eye color, even the same haircut, but my father was always drunk and sometimes he didn't recognize her and mistook her for his wife, he did...certain things to her...Anyway, I wanted to take her away from there, but she kept saying that she couldn't leave yet, that she had things to do, so last year I came back to Chicago to be near her. I didn't go out much and she kept telling me that I was too anxious, that nothing would happen to her".

He stopped for a second, just thinking about that day was too painful for him and in that year he had done everything he could to suppress it, ending up destroying himself from the inside. Ian instead realized he was holding his breath, insecure about wanting to continue listening to that heartbreaking story.

"One day Kevin asked me to help him do something at his house, Mandy was alone at home, Terry was fucking around in some bar and hadn't shown up for two days. I only had to stay out for a few hours, sort it out and then come home. I didn’t want to go, but Mandy convinced me. What could happen? Instead Terry came home, he was fucking drunk and Mandy tried to defend herself. When Iggy and Sandy came home she was on the floor, breathless, and Terry was on the couch. He didn't even remember what happened... he beat her to death and I couldn't defend her."

Tears gushed out without Mickey being able to control them, he covered his face with both hands, trying as much as possible to pull himself together. He hadn't cried like that when he came home that night after Sandy's call, not even when he saw the coroners covering Mandy's body with a stupid black sack. He didn’t cry during the eulogy, nor when his father was sentenced to life imprisonment, nor when he found himself with all his brothers and cousins cleaning out his sister's room. After that night he was no longer able to sleep in that house, for a short time Kevin and V had hosted him, but Mickey needed his space, he came home to eat and wash, but every moment spent within those walls killed him a little more. He had stopped working, stopped eating healthily, even going out, the only thing that kept him away from those thoughts was alcohol and so he dived in the hope of drowning. Iggy and Sandy had tried to help him, they had even tried to work for him, but Mickey had fallen so low that nothing and nobody seemed to be able to help him anymore. Then he walked into that apartment and Ian literally appeared in his life, completely upsetting him. After Ian things had completely changed for Mickey, he finally saw a light at the end of the tunnel and now he was in danger of losing him forever, because there was nothing to do and once again Mickey was powerless and it was a selfish thought on his part, he knew that, but he couldn’t allow Ian’s family to pull the plug.  
Ian observed him with a broken heart, unable to formulate a coherent thought. He wanted to be good at comforting people, maybe hug him and let him cry on his shoulder, let him vent and find a way to make him smile again, but he couldn't do it, he wasn't able to. He never was.

"What was she like?"

He asked with a thread of voice, Mickey looked down and sketched a smile, still shaken by tears.

"She was a bitch. She poked her nose into everything, she liked to gossip and stick her nose into my business. But she was the first to realize I was gay, she always covered me with Terry, even if she was always trying to get me to go out with some of her fucking friends. She was always smiling, even after mom left, she never stopped talking, you would have gotten along well".

Ian smiled and nodded slightly, he would have wanted to tell him that he probably would have loved her, but then Mickey looked and Ian decided to remain silent. Mickey's eyes were red as well as his cheeks still ridged with tears.

"Your family cannot sign those documents."

Ian smiled and crossed his arms to his chest.

"If I don't wake up from the coma they will...I would have liked you, you know? I've always had a weakness for cute and a bit dumb guys."

Mickey burst out laughing, raised his middle finger in his direction and tried to dry his eyes with the back of his other hand, Ian also laughed, happy to have him distracted, then looked in the direction of the terrace exit, looking for another topic of conversation that would help them leave that pain behind for good. Maybe he couldn't touch him and didn't know how to console him decently, but he knew how to make him laugh and his laugh was so good to hear that Ian promised himself that he would do everything he could to make him laugh as much as he could while he had time.

"You still haven't told me what you do for a living, though".

Mickey rubbed his flushed cheeks and took two steps back, moving away from the wall and looking into Ian’s eyes.

"I'll show you."

He said, before turning around and walking towards the apartment door again, Ian followed him, smiling and hoping, in his heart, that Byron had already left and that he wasn't still naked around the house.


	8. Questions

Once returned they realized, to Ian's pleasant surprise, that Byron had already left, leaving behind a completely messy bathroom and a wet trail leading to the door. Mickey mumbled something and Ian was more than happy not to have understood because he was sure that it was not too polite a comment.  
They went out of the palace that by then was already night, on the street there were only young people on the way to the drunkenness and some tramps camped here and there on the sidewalks. Mickey reached the nearest bus stop, ignoring the complaints of Ian who would have decidedly preferred to call a Uber to do sooner. After checking their nightly schedule, they sat on the uncomfortable plastic bench, next to a guy in a suit, completely drunk, who seemed to have come out of the worst bad movie Hollywood had ever made. They took the first available bus and faced a journey of almost an hour and a half and a dozen stops before Mickey decided to get off.

"Couldn't you just tell me?"

Ian complained, following Mickey down a sidewalk widely lit by a huge row of streetlights. To the right and left stood a row of well-kept manors, reciting and surrounded by magnificent courtyards, Ian wondered if they were really still in Chicago and if Mickey was a mobster or something. Then Mickey pointed to a fenced area with a high, perfectly manicured stone wall, with a large iron plaque next to the gate, Ian tried to read the engraving, but all he realized was that they were at the entrance to a public garden for the rich built in honor of another rich dude. They approached the wrought iron gate ajar and Mickey slipped inside, finding himself in a huge garden, full of all sorts of flowers and crossed by a stony path that disappeared behind large flowerbeds and illuminated only by a few street lamps still lit on the sides of the avenue. Ian looked around, astonished, the first light of dawn gave the flowers strange golden shades and the only audible sounds were those of the sprinklers just turned on and some bird that Ian didn’t recognize. They reached a small circular square of red bricks, placed right in the middle of the garden and only then Mickey stopped and turned to look at Ian who looked back, confused.

"Why are we here?"

"You wanted to know what I do, here. I did this place."

"You?"

"I am a landscape architect, this was the first project they assigned me in the company where I work."

Ian looked around, approached a flowerbed and looked down at the flowers, closed his eyes and inspired its sweet scent, grateful also to the fresh morning air for that light breeze that caressed his skin and gave the place an even more enchanting air. Suddenly he felt strangely at peace and realized that the whole area seemed too familiar to him, even if he realized it only when he closed his eyes.

"I've been here before."

Mickey looked at him, surprised, that area was far enough away from their neighborhood, he was barely in Chicago, and besides it was far too expensive for a guy from the South Side. Ian opened his eyes and turned to look at him, smiling.

"I dreamt it, Mick. I thought it was like heaven or something, but it was exactly this garden."

"No fucking way."

"No, I'm serious, I dreamt it. Did you really create it?"

Mickey raised his eyebrows and puffed out a quiet giggle, it wasn't the first time someone was surprised about his work. He knew he didn't look like someone who works with plants and flowers. He was a Milkovich, a reject from the ghetto, and the fact that he created flower gardens was simply out of the question.

"When my mother was still with us she sometimes left us at this friend of hers who had a big garden. She would let us help her with the flowers and fix them so after school Mandy convinced me to study this stuff out of town, Terry thought I was in jail. I was in San Francisco for a while, then a company hired me and I approached Chicago."

"Are you still working there?"

"They let me work from home, but they're gonna kick my ass out soon. I'm late with the projects and two days ago I argued with colleague who wanted to help me."

Ian giggled and shook his head before returning to look around, Mickey kept his hands in his jeans pockets and looked with nostalgia at the beautiful green lawn that stood out in front of him, perfectly groomed like the first day.

"You have to convince them to keep you, you're good."

Mickey shrugged his shoulders and sketched a half smile, without knowing how to respond. He didn't really get a lot of compliments and had an unhealthy tendency to be suspicious of anyone who did, because if Terry had given him anything, it was a tendency to be eternally insecure. Because Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich was trash, he was ghetto trash and would never do anything good in his life. All he could aspire to was a life of hardships and unpunished crimes, and his fixation on creating gardens was just a passing phase, a useless passing phase destined to die at birth. Because from the garbage can only be born more garbage.  
Ian, on the other hand, was in front of him and admired the garden that Mickey had created with so much effort as if it were some sort of paradise and looked at Mickey as if he were someone to admire. And Mickey just didn't know how to react without being a complete dumbass while his heart filled with pride for the first time in his life.

"The fuck are you looking at?"

Ian joked, noting the embarrassed look of the boy. Mickey shrugged his shoulders and looked away, his mind wandered for a long time about the last few weeks, about the meeting with Ian that had certainly made him a better person than he was becoming before and about the fact that now they were in danger of getting lost forever and instead of studying a plan, they were in a public garden staring at each other like two idiots.

"I keep thinking I need to talk to your family."

"Why?"

"Because they'll pull the plug on you if I don't, asshole."

"You would be the only one to see me anyway. I can't give you...I can't give you anything, Mick."

Ian frowned and put his hands in his pocket, Mickey instead shook his head, not at all discouraged by Ian's pessimistic behavior. He was used to fighting pessimism, he himself was the greatest pessimist of all time, but he would certainly not have allowed Ian to surrender without at least fighting.

"What if there was a way to bring you back? Don't you wish you could hug Felix and Finn?"

"Franny and Freddie..."

Mickey nodded quickly with his hand and turned to stare at a guy in a jogging outfit who looked at him bewildered on the other side of a long flowerbed. Mickey gave him the middle finger and the guy ran away quickly, disappearing into the light morning mist that was slowly forming at their feet and all over the garden. Ian looked down, his cheeks turned red and tried to kick away a pebble. His foot went past the object and all he got was a slight movement of air that dissipated the haze for a second.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"If there was a way to wake me up, would you stay afterwards?"

Mickey frowned.

"What kind of fucking question is that?"

"Well at that point we should share the apartment and I snore a lot at night and I don't like clothes on the floor...it's hard to live with me, you know?"

Mickey laughed and shook his head, called him "asshole" about two times before he stopped laughing. Ian also sketched a smile and waited a few moments to look at the boy's serene face before talking again.

"So I was wondering if you're ever ready to put up with an annoying roommate in the flesh."

"Let me talk to your family."

Mickey insisted, hinting at a spiteful little smile, Ian nodded and smiled back and started telling him all about his brothers and sisters, anything that would convince everyone that the story Mickey was going to tell him was true. Mickey wrote down the address of the Gallaghers' house, surprisingly it was just a few blocks from the Milkovich house, in the same neighborhood, even though at that precise moment they were several kilometers away. So they set off when the sun was now high in the sky and the garden was filling up with corny couples and gentlemen walking dogs.

They took the first available bus and Mickey pretended to have a call so he could speak freely with Ian, without looking crazy in the eyes of the driver and passengers. Ian recommended him to be cautious with Lip who of all people was the most skeptical and had never believed such bullshit, he told him about little secrets that only Ian could know because his older brother often confided in him and Mickey listened carefully, rebutting that if cornered he could simply kick his ass until he believed him.  
They reached Canaryville which was almost lunchtime and now that they were so close to their goal, Mickey began to feel nervous. That neighborhood, its rough streets and the kids running around with guns in their pants, reminded him terribly of his childhood, uncertainty about the future and the fear of dying too young at the hands of some fucking gangster or his father. Ian stood beside him the whole time, walking so close to him that if he hadn't been made of air, they would have clashed all the time. They arrived in front of the Gallagher house and Mickey was not surprised when he recognized the building, he had often passed by there under the orders of his father, but at the time Mickey and his brothers were too suspicious to dwell on the people who lived in that area.

"Maybe we met and didn't even notice each other."

He said, smiling shrewdly, Ian shook his head and raised his shoulders, smiling back with mischievousness.

"No, if I had met you I would have surely noticed, believe me."

The dark-haired guy lowered his head slightly, desperately trying to hide the slight redness that was burning his cheeks. Ian, on the other hand, giggled happy for the reaction he got, he had always been quite good at flirting (although he hardly ever did), but with Mickey it was a totally hilarious activity because he never knew what he was going to say or how he was going to react. And any reaction would have been better than the previous one.  
Without taking too long, Mickey walked the few wooden steps that separated them from the entrance, ignoring the garden full of toys and garbage that surrounded the house. He knocked three knocks on the door and stood aside, waiting, next to Ian who had suddenly completely lost the will to joke.

"Get ready because Lip will never believe it."

"I will convince him."

"No, seriously, he doesn't believe in such bullshit. He'll kick your ass."

Mickey glanced at him before he returned to concentrate on the still closed door, on the other side he could hear soft footsteps, probably coming from upstairs.

"Even I didn't believe in such bullshit, until an asshole made of air materialized in my living room."

"And I would say it was your greatest luck, Milkovich."

Ian mentioned a slight mocking smile while Mickey puffed, pretending to be annoyed. He was about to reply, but Gallagher's door opened, revealing a young man who seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He was wearing over-sized clothes and holding a can of under-brand beer from the convenience store in one hand, while behind him two children kept screaming and chasing each other, destroying as many knick-knacks as possible. Ian lit up and stepped forward, flanking the boy who was now looking at the unknown visitor and peeking inside the house.

"It's Carl."

"Carl?

Mickey murmured as he looked at the boy who continued to wander around his little brother. Carl mentioned a forced smile and nodded slightly.

"Yes. Need anything?"

"Ask him if Lip is here. If Freddie is there, maybe he is too."

"Is Lip at home?"

Carl raised his eyebrows, surprised, took a second to look at the stranger from head to toe, then turned around and called out to his brother.

"Are you a colleague? You don't look recommendable."

Mickey, once again, did not have time to answer that another guy came to the door. This other guy was a little taller than him and maybe the same age as him, Ian let go of an excited verse and Mickey realized he was standing in front of the infamous Lip Gallagher, so he cleared his throat while trying to tidy up his thoughts. The newcomer looked at Mickey from top to bottom, dwelt on the tattoos in plain sight on Mickey's knuckles and stepped forward, half-discovering his brother.

"Who are you?"

"I...I know Ian."

Both young Gallaghers snapped to attention, then Lip invited the boy in, told the two children to go upstairs and told Mickey to sit on the couch. Lip sat in the adjacent armchair, never taking his eyes off him, while Carl decided to stand next to the couch. Mickey had been subjected to an endless number of interrogations in his short life, but he had never felt as nervous and judgmental as he did at that moment. The only comfort was Ian who sat next to him and kept whispering to him what to say and how to behave. Mickey showed up simply by saying his name, believing that it was more than enough for them, on the other hand he could not run the risk that someone in that house would recognize him as Terry Milkovich's son.

"Are you sure you know Ian?"

Mickey raised his eyebrows, surprised by the accusatory tone of the question.

"Red hair, six feet high, never shuts up. Is that enough for you or do you also need the size of his underwear?"

Both Gallagher brothers hinted at a resolution, probably agreeing that that description was quite specific and in line with their missing brother.

"But how did you two meet? He wasn't dating anyone. He didn't have any friends outside the hospital."

"Fuck you very much, Philip."

Ian mumbled, crossing his arms to his chest and giving both his brothers a nasty look. Then the door opened again and a boy of just eleven or twelve years old entered the house, loaded with a backpack almost twice the size of him and dressed in an elegant school uniform, stopped to watch the scene in the living room, dwelling in particular on Mickey who meanwhile moved his gaze from Ian to the newcomer.

"It's Liam. He is my younger brother, try not to reveal too much in front of him. he is too young, I don’t want to freak him out."

Mickey nodded slightly and cast a fleeting glance at the boy sitting next to him, hoping that the little boy would disappear as soon as possible in order to continue the conversation. Instead Liam decided to throw the backpack on the ground and go and sit on the armrest of the armchair on which his older brother was sitting, asked about what was happening and focused on Mickey.

"So? How do you know Ian? Were you his dealer or something? Don't tell me he owed you fucking money."

Mickey opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, ignoring Ian's complaints, offended by the lack of trust his family had in him, he shook his hands at the knees and decided that telling the truth with the kid present would definitely lower his chances of convincing them that he wasn't just some lunatic.

"We...uhm..."

"Tell him I met you at work, Mick, but not as colleagues. You aren’t a credible doctor."

"We met at work. His. His work."

Carl curled his forehead and came a little closer to the boy, overpowering his sitting figure and putting him in even more difficulty.

"How?

"He helped me with...um...with the ambulance. Bullshit, I had cervical meningitis and they admitted me. He helped me a lot, yes."

"A cervical meningitis?"

Lip replied with a wiseass, Mickey decided that he didn't like that Gallagher at all and if he could he would have kicked his ass, but Ian was sitting there next to him and had the same confused look in his brother's eyes so he realized that maybe he had said some bullshit.

"There's no such thing as cervical meningitis, Mickey."

Ian murmured disconsolate, Mickey scratched his neck mentally calling himself an asshole.

"Well I don’t know what it's called. All I know is that I couldn't get my ass out of the chair without passing out, even sober, you know? Then one day I passed out in the middle of the street and Ian came to my rescue. Then he helped me even when I was in the hospital, so..."

"Sounds like something Ian would do."

Liam murmured, smiling between himself with his slightly shiny eyes and his gaze fixed on Mickey, Ian smiled softly before looking at the other two brothers who seemed to have finally convinced themselves.

"You're a good liar, Mick. And the fact that you look like an idiot justifies the idiot answer you gave earlier. Bravo."

"Bitch."

Mickey whispered, then hid the whole thing with a fake cough. He cleared his throat immediately afterwards and returned to focus on his visible interlocutors. Lip dried his eyes with the back of his hand and released a trembling sigh before speaking.

"Why are you here?

"I know he's in... I know how he is and I know he's been like this for a long time, but..."

"Why didn't you show up earlier?"

Carl interrupted him, deciding to sit next to him and, without knowing it, crushing his brother who was forced to move up the stairs, from that position he could see the two nephews hiding on the upper steps, intent on listening to the conversation of the adults downstairs. Franny looked in the direction of her uncle and put her finger on her lips to keep him quiet.

"Franny?"

The little girl smiled in response and returned to focus on the floor below, where Mickey was continuing the play of the poor friend who had had to go out of town for medical reasons and who as soon as he returned to Chicago had learned of Ian's tragic end.

"Franny, can you see me?"

This time even the youngest child turned towards him and, at the sight of his uncle, he smiled radiantly, showing a row of whites and new baby teeth.

"Uncle!"

The baby screamed happily and Franny was just in time to grab him by his shirt before Freddie threw himself down the stairs to reach his uncle. The adults downstairs turned to them, Lip ran to grab his son who was now dangling from a step, held only by his cousin's tiny little hands. The child hurled himself unnecessarily for a few minutes, continuing to scream in the direction of his uncle Ian to persuade him to pick him up, unaware that Ian could not satisfy him. Mickey watched the scene in silence, keeping his gaze fixed on Ian who in turn looked at him confused.

"They see me, Mickey! I suspected it, but now I am sure of it."

He said, with his hands to his hair, during the days spent in the hospital had often thought that his grandchildren felt at least his presence, they had often looked at him, but never tried to talk to him. Mickey got up suddenly and, still disoriented, turned his eyes to Carl who was now looking at him confused, from the kitchen came loudly the desperate cries of the child and the comforting words of his father who continued to rock him.

"I want the truth, you come and the children go crazy. Who the fuck are you?"

He asked the boy, taking a step towards Mickey who, in response, took two steps back and risked tripping over the armrest of the sofa. Carl looked him straight in the eye and looked like he wanted to kill him with his bare hands, but looking around Mickey recognized an alarming amount of possible weapons that the Gallaghers could use against him and decided not to risk it.

"I know they asked you to pull the plug."

Mickey said, returning the young man's gaze with the same intensity, while Ian watched the scene on the other side of the couch, still disoriented. Mickey took a quick look at him and only then did he notice that Liam had gone up the stairs and sat beside him, intent on consoling his nephew who continued sobbing in his arms.

"How?"

"I just know it! But you can’t fucking do it cause Ian is still alive."

"Do you really think you can come to our house and talk about our brother's life?! Who the fuck do you think you are?"

The tone of Carl's voice rose at least an octave and then cracked for an instant. Ian stood beside Mickey, he wanted to put his hand on his arm to drag him away and stop making his family suffer in that way. It was a bad idea to visit them and he called himself stupid for even thinking it was a feasible thing.

"My brother is in a coma, on a fucking respirator!"

The boy continued, his voice now broken by sobbing, but Mickey didn’t want to give up, he had gone too far. That seemed like the last resort, the last hope to keep Ian with him a little longer, a way to find a remedy and bring him back to the world of the living. And Mickey had no intention of giving it up without a fight.

"I know. I know everything, I also know that Ian wants to go on living. If you'd listen to me for five fucking minutes I could..."

"You didn't even know him! You don't know shit!"

"I learned to know him."

Carl tried to calm down when his niece started crying louder and when he finally came back to look at Mickey, his cheeks were completely red, as were his wet eyes. He took one step towards Mickey, but Lip returned to the room with his son in his arms. The blond boy looked in the direction of Mickey and stood between him and his brother.

"You'd better go."

Mickey sighed with defeat, took another step back and clapped his hands on his hips. Before turning around he took one last look at the two boys.

"Can you at least think about it?"

"Out.”

Carl yelled, overtaking his brother to come face to face with what now seemed to have become his sworn enemy. Mickey shook his head, ready to speak again, but Ian stood in front of him, his cheeks were lined with tears and his look was sad, he looked him in the eyes and Mickey understood that he was going further. There was nothing else he could do without hurting anyone. So he decided to abandon the mission and, without adding anything else, he left that house, slamming the door behind him. He stopped on the wooden porch and lost a few minutes looking for a cigarette and lighter in his pockets, while Ian, by his side, tried to stop the tears from coming out, rubbing his eyes hard and Mickey would have wanted so much to console him, but the truth was that with people he sucked and that he would never be able to say anything without making the situation worse. And then what could you ever say to a guy in a coma whose last chance to come back to life you just ruined?

The door opened again and Mickey immediately put himself on the defensive, he would never fight with the Gallaghers, not at that moment at least, but he could parry the blows and he would certainly not be caught off guard. He was surprised to see the little Liam come out, they looked at each other in silence for a moment and then the little boy sketched a half smile and shook his shoulders.

"They won't tell me, but they have already signed the documents to pull the plug. Fiona agrees by now."

And Mickey felt himself die, a lump formed in his throat while Liam explained to him how, after returning from their last visit to the hospital, his brothers had spent hours locked in Carl's room talking, leaving Liam alone with the children eavesdropping from behind the closed door. He said that Carl had firmly opposed the decision, that he had even proposed to talk to Frank even though he knew that it probably wouldn't help, but that in the end he was convinced because the costs were really high and Lip had to think about his family, Debbie to her daughter and even Liam's school had costs despite the scholarship. Fiona had asked for at least four days to get organized and return to Chicago, she would tell Liam and the kids because no one else seemed to have the courage to do it and Liam had decided to keep it a secret until she arrived in town because his older siblings were already too stressed to think about him too. The boy didn't know if his siblings had already informed the doctors, but he knew that his sister Debbie had taken him to school that morning, carrying a folder that she kept clutching to her chest nervously and since she hadn't come back yet, he imagined she was in the hospital with the doctors.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You're his only friend who showed up at home. And it is also my fault if Ian dies."

"No, Liam..."

Ian murmured in tears, he knelt down in front of his little brother to be at the same height as him, even though the latter could not see him.

"It's not your fault if..."

"I'm not stupid, I know the costs are a lot and that Ian's brain is turned off. But sometimes when I go to see him I know he is there and when I entered the house and saw you on the couch, I knew Ian was with you and he is still here, even if we don't see him. So if you can bring my brother home, do it."

Having said that, the child returned to the house, locked the door behind him and leaving the two boys alone on the landing again. Mickey cast a fleeting glance at Ian, still crouching in front of the front door, staring straight ahead with his hands around his knees. He seemed to be in the grip of a deep and spiritual crisis of nerves.

"So the children can see you, the kids a little bit grown up only feel your presence and the adults don't even feel that?"

"Apparently..."

Ian raised his head to look at his interlocutor. Mickey finally managed to light the much desired cigarette and brought it to his mouth while continuing to brood over the whole situation.

"This does not explain why I can see you. As far as I'm concerned I haven't been a kid for quite a while".

He added, after puffing a little smoke out of his nostrils, Ian stood up and shrugged without responding. Actually the redhead had his own idea, but it was so romantic and corny that he preferred to keep it to himself, of course Mickey would have called it definitely stupid. So he decided to leave the house before one of his siblings discovered that Mickey was still there. He didn't want to see a fight at all at that moment.

They walked down the street, side by side, in silence, both too busy with their own thoughts to worry about each other's minds. Mickey was the first to decide to break the silence, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing the spirit to stop beside him.

"Maybe you’re tied to the apartment, that's why I see you."

"Byron and those phony ghostbusters also entered the apartment, but they didn't see me. And anyway, you can see me even outside the apartment."

"Dumbass, I live in the apartment. Maybe your spirit is tied to the house and who lives in it."

"So it's a coincidence that it was you who rented it."

He replied, slightly annoyed, looked Mickey straight in the eye whom could not help but look back with the same pout, not understanding the reason for that accusatory tone.

"Could I have appeared to anyone, Mickey?"

He continued then, crossing his arms to his chest and stopping right in front of him, he seemed almost defensive. Mickey frowned, more and more confused.

"I rented it."

"Yes, but it's a coincidence! Anyone could have rented it, and it would have been the same, right?"

"The fuck does that mean?!"

A group of kids passed by the strange gentleman who was screaming to himself and exchanged confused glances before accelerating their pace to get away from him as soon as possible. Mickey followed them out of the corner of his eye with the subtle desire to tell them that dealing with a moody ghost like Ian would drive anyone crazy, but that was the South Side and those kids could very well be armed to the teeth and he had left all the weapons at home. Ian meanwhile puffed on the complete insensitivity that the boy was showing, underneath it all he called himself stupid because that was the most idiotic conversation they had had since they met. Deep down he knew that Mickey wasn't the romantic type and he couldn't have thought that it was fate that brought them together, and yet he hadn't even tried to ask himself if there was more to it, that maybe there was a specific purpose for the two of them. Maybe they were soulmates, but no, Mickey was convinced that it was all a coincidence, he probably didn't even believe in fate and Ian felt like a real asshole for being upset.

"Nothing."

"Why are you pissed off with me?"

Ian took a look around, there weren't a lot of people on the street, but the few people present kept throwing weird looks at them and the whole situation was stressful enough without having to worry about strangers nosy people he couldn't even yell at to get their own business.

"Pretend to be on your phone."

The boy obeyed without too many objections, well aware of the strange looks of passers-by. He threw the rest of the cigarette into a manhole and pulled the phone out of his jacket pocket and then took it to his ear and mumbled something grumpy.

"Why are you pissed off with me?

He repeated, keeping his gaze fixed on Ian's, who could now finally complain as long as he wanted without making his friend look like a lunatic.

"I'm not pissed off, but I'm about to die and my life is in the hands of three children and a stranger that my brothers hate!"

"I know, asshole, but I'm trying to help you and you’re mad for no reason."

"What the fuck do you care?! It's a coincidence if you can see me, isn't it? You don't give a shit whether I die or not. On the contrary, if I disappear completely you can drink until you're sick, fuck with the neighboring asshole and dirty everything you want.

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"Forget it, Mickey, forget it!"

Ian took his hands to his temples and puffed, if possible even more annoyed, while Mickey looked at him with a mix of contrasting emotions. On the one hand he had no idea what was wrong with him and thought he had simply gone crazy, on the other hand he thought it was the fault of all the stress accumulated in those weeks, in a month he discovered he was invisible, in a coma and that he had only four days to live, but to take it out on the only person who could help him? That was a real infamous move and Mickey did not tolerate the infamous. But deep down, he knew that Ian just needed to let off steam, that the whole situation had worn him out emotionally and that Mickey Milkovich, with the shitty character and the relational skills of a stupid rock, was not exactly the easiest companion to have. Not to mention the rejection of that subtle attraction that it was now evident that both of them felt for each other and that Mickey intended to save for when (if) Ian returned as a 100% living being, with a tangible body and without the ability to disappear and reappear at will.

"Why do you think I can see you?"

"I don't know."

"Then why do you get pissed off if I try to understand something? Do you understand that it could be just the solution? It could help you out of your fucking coma, Gallagher."

Ian looked around for a long time, moving his gaze along that neighborhood that had seen him grow year after year. Ian still remembered the first kiss given to his boss, married and with kids, in the back of the dingy grocery store just a few blocks away, remembering the ROTC trainings with Lip and Carl throwing rocks at him along an impromptu path in the backyard, and the running, fighting and crying that had been happening on that very street. In all those memories Mickey was not there and yet now he was literally the only person on the face of the earth who allowed him not to forget anything. He pulled up with his nose, his eyes still burning from the tears shed just before, they became lucid again.

"I would have liked so much to start a family. I always told myself that once the job was done, I would find a good guy to marry. I wanted children, I even thought about names. Instead look at me! I am hopeless, and in a week I will be gone, and you are just wasting your time!"

"Bullshit."

"No, Mickey, you're right, okay? It's all a coincidence. Fate is just a big fucking joke and you're wasting your life for me. I'm hopeless! I wasted my life and now I'm wasting yours too!"

Ian was practically screaming while warm transparent tears were streaming down his flushed cheeks and Mickey watched the scene helplessly with the phone still pressed to his ear and heavy breathing.

"We can go to Kevin, he will have some ideas. It's not true that you don't have a chance".

"Why?"

"Because that asshole has a garage full of junk and a heavy fetish for spirits and..."

"No, Mickey, why do you insist on helping me? A month ago you called a priest to exorcise me and now you don't think about anything else, today you haven't even had lunch because you were too busy doing the Sherlock Holmes of the afterlife".

"You know why, fuck you."

"I'm not your sister, you don't have to help me."

"You're somebody's brother."

Mickey's gaze grew darker and Ian took time to dry his eyes, slightly calmer than before thanks to that rash he had been keeping inside for over a month now.

"Is that all it is?

Mickey observed every inch of Ian's face, undecided whether to continue that conversation at his own risk and fearful of not being able to convince the spirit that no, it was not a waste of time and yes, he would have given up even a hundred meals if it served to bring him home to his family "and me" he thought.

You are not a waste of time.  
I would do this and a thousand other shits just to hold your hand.

He would have wanted to tell him, but he was too cowardly and Terry's voice in his head kept telling him that he would never be brave enough to do it, and the memory of Mandy kept making him think that he could never save him, that those words were just a mere illusion for Ian and himself, because he wasn't just a coward, he was also useless.

"Let's go to Kevin, read some books and if it doesn't work I'll get you out of the fucking hospital."


	9. Unsolved Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!  
> First of all thank you for the kudos and comments, I love you all!  
> I'm sorry I haven't updated all this time, but I've been going through a particular time and I wasn't very inspired so I preferred to avoid writing, but now I hope to be more constant with updates!
> 
> Again, I apologize for my not-so-perfect English and for the mistakes you will find while reading. I'm trying, I swear
> 
> Than you again and have a nice day! or good evening...or good night...

The Alibi was pretty simple, the classic one-room bar on the South Side, Ian was also pretty sure he'd been there before, maybe with his brothers on one of their late night drinks. The tables were almost all occupied by middle-aged men intent on watching the football game broadcast from a large television hanging on the wall, while behind the bar a beautiful woman was ranting at an obviously drunk gentleman who kept stretching his glass toward the beer pins.

"Disgusting."

Muttered the redhead, Mickey gave him a shifty look and an amused smirk.

"That's the way of the world, bud. Hey, Tommy, get the fuck out of here."

At the sound of Mickey's voice a few heads turned, the man called Tommy sitting at the bar stood up from his stool, risking falling on his ass, and smiling raised his empty mug in the direction of the newcomer.

"The prodigal son back in the failure tower!"

"I'm pretty sure that's not the saying."

The man staggered over to give him a resounding pat on the back, laughing as if that had been the most hilarious conversation of his life, then decided to follow order and go find another stool to pass out on. Mickey followed him with his gaze all the way to the back of the bar, then walked up to the bar to face the bartender, with Ian in tow.

"Mick? I was just about to call you, the owners want to give you the apartment."

Ian's head snapped in the woman's direction as Mickey stared at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

"When did they call you?"

"A few minutes ago. Don't tell me you changed your mind, I'm not going to visit another crappy apartment for you."

Mickey opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, even looking in the direction of the boy to check how he was doing, obviously Ian looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The guy went back to focusing on Veronica, who was staring at him waiting for any reaction.

"When?"

"Day after tomorrow they bring me the contract. The old roommate is in a coma, okay? I think they want to pull the plug. So take it and when I call you show up at the office to sign the contract."

And with a wave of her hand, Veronica made it clear that the conversation had to end there. Mickey let a trembling smile escape, not daring to move his gaze over his shoulder again, well aware that all he would find would be a disconsolate Ian on the verge of tears.

"Where's Kevin?"

"He's bringing the supplies in, why?"

"I need to talk to him."

The woman frowned, confused, but didn’t take her eyes off the figure of the guy who continued to touch his nose spasmodically. Veronica knew Mickey well enough to know that that particular tic came out whenever the young man was nervous about something. That's why she decided to make him tell her all about it.

"What do you need to tell him?"

"I need to tell him some things."

“Like what?"

"Like you need to mind your own fucking business, V."

"Don't tell me it's about his fucking obsession with ghosts."

Mickey brought his thumb to his nose again guiltily as the woman crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him as if he had suddenly gone insane. The two of them began bickering about why they were or weren't Veronica’s business and meanwhile Ian continued to torture his hands not even bothering to move when some staggering customer walked through him.

"Mick, can we go?"

He murmured in a hushed voice, at that moment he just wanted to sit on his (former) couch, stare at his (former) apartment and maybe do one of those tear-jerking goodbye scenes that he had always hated in the movies, but that now seemed the only way he could put a stop to that depressing story and say goodbye to Mickey so he would no longer be a burden to him.  
But Mickey, even at the cost of sounding crazy in front of the whole neighborhood, was about to say that he wouldn't leave the place until he saw Kevin Ball's sweaty fat ass cross the threshold, but just then said fat ass came through the back door, puffing and completely sweaty. He glanced around and then focused on the young man who was arguing with his wife.

"Dude, you can't fucking bring it in here!"

The man almost shouted, approaching at a brisk pace as if all the fatigue had suddenly evaporated from his bones. Veronica glared at him, and Mickey gave him a furious look as well.

"Bring what?"

The woman asked as Kevin shifted his gaze from Mickey to the surrounding empty space.

"The spirit. This is a fucking sacred place, man!"

"Fuck you."

Ian mumbled, suddenly ready for a spiritual fight, took a step forward, but Mickey held up two fingers to signal him to calm down.

"I need to get in your fucking garage. Don't say another word if you don't want a fight."

The guy blurted out, Kevin stepped back and raised both arms in surrender, meanwhile Veronica was watching the scene more and more annoyed and also some customers sitting at the surrounding tables seemed particularly interested in the discussion. Kevin decided not to risk it and, after begging his wife to stay at the bar while he was away, he hurried to get his jacket and keys so he could do Mickey's bidding. Veronica then stayed behind the bar while Kevin and Mickey almost ran out of the bar to get to that shitty place that the woman hoped she would never have to see again.

"Fuckin’ men."

In twenty-four years of life Ian believed he had seen every single dive bar on Chicago's South Side, crumbling bars and rat-infested stores, houses that needed only a gust of wind to fall down and rotting toilets, yet nothing had ever made him feel as sorry as the alley they were walking down at that very moment. A homeless man was pissing down the narrow street, not even bothering to look at the wall, while the walls, on which all kinds of mold had grown, looked like they were going to collapse at any moment and the dumpsters were overflowing with garbage, as if no one had bothered to empty them in the last ten years. Yet Mickey and Kevin seemed calm, walking side by side in silence, careful not to step on broken glass or abandoned syringes. After crossing the street and another alley similar to the previous one, they reached a long row of warehouses, all closed by heavy rusty shutters, Mickey snorted, evidently uncomfortable, while his friend proudly walked towards the most colorful shutter Ian had ever seen. The redhead took a few minutes to process the fact that Mickey had actually brought him to such a place and to look at the shutter, which was finely decorated with UFO and witch hats drawings. Kevin looked around before bending down to unlock the garage lock, and Ian promptly turned his head to avoid laying eyes on the part of the man's ass that had escaped his pants; Mickey smiled in amusement at the spirit's gesture, but still cast a curious glance at the view, which, he had to admit, annoyed Ian slightly.

"Are you guys socializing?"

Kevin asked as he raised the creaking shutter until it disappeared overhead. Mickey and Ian peeked inside, but the lights were still off and all they could see was some greenish glow from the fluorescent toys scattered around the room.

"What?"

"I'm sensing a big red aura."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"Jealousy."

Ian's eyes went wide and he cleared his throat while Mickey, obviously confused, waited for the man to continue talking. Kevin hinted at an amused smirk as he prepared to turn on the lights to reveal his wonderful treasure.

"And embarrassment. Uuh there are strong feelings about you."

"Really?"

Mickey smiled smugly and turned to look at Ian who was instead staring straight ahead, looking serious with his cheeks painted red. The dark-haired man didn't even know that spirits could blush, but in his heart he hoped that Ian's body was having the same effect at that moment because it was the cutest thing Mickey had ever seen in his entire life. Kevin resumed talking as he arranged a few random items on the shelves.

"Are you sure you like him, spirit? I think you can do better."

"Fuck you, bitch."

"Can we please move on?"

Ian tried to change the subject, still not deigning to look Mickey in the face. The guy however accepted without further ado and took a few uncertain steps inside the garage, reaching his friend who was waiting for him at the usual shelf about spirits from which Mickey had taken all those useless books only a month before.

"You were right, Ian is alive, but the fucking doctors want to pull the plug. What should I do?"

Mickey asked all in one breath, Kevin watched his friend's vault for a handful of seconds and then shook his head and went back to looking at his own collection without saying a word.

"Ask him if there is a spell that can reunite the spirit with the body."

"A spell? Where the fuck do you think you are, on Supernatural?"

"You’ve a better idea?"

They both huffed, annoyed with each other, as Kevin continued to look through the books and various junk carefully stowed on the shelves.

"You're asking the wrong questions, Mick. Every spirit has an unresolved question, why this one is still walking around you won't find in any book."

Mickey seemed, if possible, even more annoyed and brought a hand to his temple to massage it and avoid punching the man and his very annoying know-it-all voice in the face.

"And what’s the fucking right question then?"

Kevin turned and smiled, perhaps trying to give the situation a mysterious aura, but he bumped into a shelf, knocking over a mini iron cauldron that reached the floor with a loud clank and Ian tried with all his might not to laugh, before remembering that Kevin wouldn't notice anyway. Mickey, on the other hand, looked like he was about to headbutt both of them, well...if only he could have done that to Ian. Kevin cleared his throat, embarrassed, and tapped the cauldron to roll it as far as he could so Mickey couldn't pick it up and throw it at his head.

"Mickey, it's obvious, even you can get there."

"You fucking asshole."

Ian chuckled again and went to looking around, observing the objects around them with feigned interest, in reality he would have simply done anything as long as he didn't have to witness the clash of jokes between dumb and dumber. However he knew that scene would go on for quite a while if he didn't help, because he knew Mickey well enough to know that in situations like that he could become a fucking idiot and he had the impression that Kevin was even worse.

"All very funny, but I'm dying and you still don't have a plan."

He stated in a greedy tone, casting a glance at the guy from behind a small plastic display case containing an equally small plastic ugly alien. Mickey returned the look and raised his middle finger in his direction before starting to complain.

"Why do I have to put up with you of all people?"

"BRAVO!"

Kevin stated, exulting as if he had just solved the greatest of mysteries. Ian straightened up and went back to stand next to the two men, while Mickey scratched his head still confused and muttered a few expletives under his breath.

"Why you of all people? That's the right question."

"Maybe I have the same shit you have. I can see...things"

Kevin laughed, a laugh that sounded very fake to Mickey's ears, and shook his head, looking at his friend as if he were a poor sap.

"You don't have the Gift. Believe me. But you may have to deal with his unfinished business."

"But we didn't even know each other before and I've already asked myself that fucking question and there is no fucking answer."

Ian became pensive and silence fell in the room, everyone looking for a solution to that blessed question. Well everyone except Kevin who was too intent on dusting off some old and horrifying spirit books.

"You said I might be tied to the apartment, but I don't have any loose ends in that house."

Ian finally murmured, looking in the direction of the dark-haired man who returned the look, thoughtful. Mickey shrugged his shoulders and sighed tiredly, it was almost evening and he hadn't eaten anything yet and moreover time was passing and it seemed to get more and more tangled in the threads of that difficult situation, he even seemed to hear the ticking of a stupid clock that reminded him that every minute passed would be a minute less in the possibility of bringing Ian back. Young Milkovich had been through quite a few difficult situations in his life, but without a doubt that one was beating them all. And it was fucking stressfull.

"I don't know, I feel like I have the solution just a step away, but I can't reach it."

"Mick, maybe it really is all just chance and this is my destiny..."

"Bullshit! Don't start that again."

Mickey blurted out, raising his arms to the sky, Ian muffled and stepped back, intimidated, and Kevin turned back to the boy.

"Why are you so worked up?"

"Because Ian could disappear at any moment and all he does is repeat that destiny bullshit like it's of some fucking help!"

"But why?"

The man epeated, softening his gaze, Mickey grimaced.

"What?"

"A month ago you asked me to send him away and now you're here freaking out to make him stay..."

"If I can help him why the fuck shouldn't I?"

Ian cautiously approached the shorter man, positioning himself between him and Kevin so that Mickey could look him in the eyes. He had a fiery and somewhat shiny look on his face, he hated to see him in that state, so far from the braggart and uncaring Mickey that he had enjoyed torturing for a month, so fragile and scared that he looked like a child. Mickey had so many facets and so many colors, more than Ian thought a single human being could have. And they were all charming and beautiful even though Mickey always tried to hide them behind that south side bully attitude and Ian could sense all of them now and even more just by looking into his eyes because in just one month he had done nothing but observe him and learn about him and it was a new beautiful and scary feeling he had never experienced before and he was so afraid to lose it. But he had to protect Mickey and would have given up his own life to never see him in that suffering state again.

"You don't owe me anything, Mick."

Mickey's blue eyes darkened, it almost seemed as if a storm was brewing within them.

"I have to help you."

He muttered in a half-hearted, short-breathed voice, not taking his eyes off Ian's.

"I'm not Mandy."

"You already said that, dickhead. But I'm not doing this for Mandy, I'm doing this for you. For fuckin’ Ian."

Ian hinted a quivering smile and tried to take his hand, before remembering that he couldn't touch him. Mickey noticed and brought his hand to his chest, clasping it in the other one so he could feel at least a little bit of warmth, then released a little shy smile and shook his head, shifted so he could look at Kevin who was watching the scene (or at least the part he could see) with bright eyes and a dumb grin on his face.

"What should I do?"

"I don’t know, man...but I’m sure you gonna find the answer. I can feel it"

“Yeah, right.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, now almost completely hopeless, and Ian flanked him again, watching him at arm's length with extreme gentleness.

"Mickey, can we go home please?"

The two of them looked at each other again and Mickey nodded slowly so, after saying goodbye to a still distraught and tearful Kevin, they left the garage together to head home.  
They were silent the whole way, but while Ian could at least enjoy the gentle rhythm of his partner's heartbeat, Mickey felt nothing but emptiness.


	10. Unfinished business

The sun was already gone when Mickey finally entered the apartment, tired, hungry, and painfully aware of Ian's presence right behind him.

“You should eat something.”

The redhead muttered, without taking his eyes off the boy who had just slipped off his boots and was now staggering tiredly towards the living room, grunting in pain. Mickey didn't answer and didn't turn, instead heading straight for the table on which he had left his laptop just the night before. He brought a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes a couple of times, taking advantage of the fact that Ian was temporarily gone to try and get his thoughts in order. He had just four days to save him, and in a single day he had managed to turn his entire family against him and make them lose all hope, but he certainly wasn't going to let those little things get him down. He was a Milkovich after all and in a Milkovich's life there were no insurmountable barriers, every lock could be picked and every cop had a weakness, so Mickey would manage to solve that fucking tangle of unpleasant situations at the cost of staying awake until the next day if necessary.

“I’m serious, Mick, you’ve to eat.”

Ian reappeared at his side just as Mickey started up the computer, overpowering with his own voice the annoying hum that that infernal machine, at least seven years old, produced at every startup.

“Later.”

“When? I can’t even remember the last time I saw you eat.”

“That cause you weren’t here.”

He replied dryly, keeping his eyes fixed on the illuminated screen and quickly typing a few words that Ian couldn’t catch. The white light of the computer reflected on his face highlighted the paleness of his skin and the deep dark shadows that surrounded his eyes, so Ian decided that to get at least the guy's attention he would have to play dirty. He crossed the table, stopping exactly in the middle of the keyboard on which Mickey kept tapping his fingers, so that the latter found himself with his hands literally plunged into Ian's hips.

"Fucking gross!"

Mickey quickly retracted both hands and Ian couldn't hold back a satisfied smirk, even when his friend gave him the worst of his grim looks.

"Get off your ass and go make yourself some dinner please."

The redhead begged him, not at all willing to move from that strange position, Mickey looked at his face for a few more seconds then moved his chair backwards rubbing it noisily on the wooden floor and enjoying too much Ian's annoyed expression. In his heart he hoped he had left some marks on the wooden floor. He reached the kitchen huffing and puffing and for a moment was tempted to grab the phone to order a pizza, but Ian followed him step by step in silence and ready to judge his every move, so he decided that for one night he wouldn't die if he ate something healthy. He opened a few drawers in search of a bowl and other necessary utensils.

“You know how to cook, Mick?”

"Of course I can cook. And don't look so surprised, asshole."

Ian smiled tenderly and went to settle in next to the fridge, eager to see Mickey struggling with the kitchen. In their short time together, he had never seen him cook, not once. Usually Mickey ordered some junk food from some fast food delivery service and downed at least three cans of cheap beer, but knowing that he could cook added an extra bit of interest to Ian's eyes. Who knows how well he could cook and if he had ever cooked for someone special, Ian had no idea, but he could well imagine Mickey mumbling at the stove, struggling with some recipe taken from the internet. If he closed his eyes he could even see his concentrated face as he mixed the ingredients, perhaps tasting his creation from time to time, maybe he was the kind of cook who would pass the ladle to the person he was cooking for, for a further taste, smiling happily at any positive response. Ian knew with certainty that if that someone was him, he would tell him it was good even if he made some filthy crap, just to see the little wrinkles of expression forming around his eyes every time he smiled....

"Ian?"

Mickey's voice managed to bring him back to earth and Ian painfully realized that he had spent a good two minutes dreamily staring at the boy's hands with a stupid smile on his face. He blushed visibly and hurried to change the subject, dwelling on the plastic bowl full of not-so-green salad to which Mickey was adding a whole jar of corn. He made a disgusted grimace and tried to make a joke about why eating that old stuff would probably be less healthy than all the hamburgers in the world put together, and Mickey laughed for a few seconds before resuming stirring the toppings and returning his attention to Ian.

"What were you thinking about?"

"Why?"

"You seemed really into it."

The boy blushed again, and this time Mickey let slip a verse of satisfaction accompanied by a giggle, which didn't help Ian at all to calm down.

"You blush a lot, Gallagher."

"And you do everything you can to make me blush, Milkovich."

The redhead replied promptly, trying to fight with all his might the amused smile that was threatening to come out, Mickey instead laughed and continued to smile even while he finished preparing his sad meal. He took two plates from the cupboard and was about to serve the dinner when he remembered that one plate would be more than enough, at that point the smile quickly faded. Ian smiled full of affection, trying to keep a cheerful air even if inside he felt like dying (in all senses) because it had been a difficult day and probably that was one of the last evenings they could spend together, if not the last.

"Nice thought, but I think all that corn would stay on my stomach."

He joked, taking a step closer to the guy who was hurrying to put one plate back in its place, now not so inclined to joke anymore. Seeing the absent reaction, Ian resumed speaking.

"No one had ever made me dinner before. Well except for Fiona and Lip, but they had to, I mean...but if I had a working stomach and hands not made of air..."

"And isn't that the problem?"

Mickey asked, demoralized, he grabbed his plate and, without adding further, he left the kitchen to go throw himself on the couch and quickly eat his dinner. They had to get back to work soon, there was research to be done, see if there was anyone in the same situation as them, establish a plan...so many things to do and too little time available. In fact in the previous two weeks he had already done some research, but all he had managed to find were stupid stories of people out of coma who said they had seen "the light", but this would not stop him. The Internet was very very wide.  
Mickey's head was about to explode, the lightness of that moment in the kitchen was completely gone and all for an extra dish. Because Mickey wanted to have a nice evening in Ian's company and being with him was so natural and beautiful that for a moment he had forgotten how supernatural it all really was. Ian appeared on the couch next to him, cross-legged and with a sad expression, he almost seemed to levitate on the slightly warped red cushions of the couch.

"Mickey, you don't have to rack your brain. it will go as it goes."

The redhead said, not without a hint of regret in his voice, fixing his gaze on Mickey's shiny and distraught one. He nodded a tender smile and brought his hand close to place it just above Mickey's leg, who, though feeling neither heat nor pressure, smiled back, softened by the gesture.

"I always dreamed of having someone to make me dinner, but I was too wrapped up in work to bother dating. I wanted that fucking gown badly and only once I got it would I allow myself to start a family..."

"Then we should get back to work and not waste any more time."

“No, Mick. Can’t you see?”

Mickey stood by, never taking his eyes off Ian's pained face, imagining that he could brush his cheek to let him know that he was there and would help him. That he was doing everything he could to help him and wouldn't stop until he could get him to grab a fucking plate with his own hands.

"I wasted my time chasing something because I thought I still had my whole life ahead of me to settle down and, ironically, the only times I've really lived were all in the last month. Since..."

He took a few seconds to think hard about what to say, shifting his gaze to his own hand floating on Mickey's thigh, unable to hold the other man's gaze any longer.

"Ever since I met you I really understood what I was missing and everything that has happened to me this month is a plus. I've always had this empty feeling in my chest and never had anything been able to fill it, not a promotion or the birth of my nephews. The truth is, Mickey, you are the only one who has been able to fill it."

“How?”

Ian smiled at that innocent and naive question, but it concealed perhaps the greatest of a-nswers. A tear escaped his control and he was quick to brush it away with the palm of his hand, he wasn't looking at him, but he knew Mickey's eyes were shining too, he could almost feel it.

"I never brought any boys here, this house was Ian Gallagher's Fortress of Solitude. I never woke up next to anyone, I never had anyone to fight with because they didn't put a fucking coaster on instead of littering the coffee table or because they didn't fix the kitchen after they made food. I had no one to worry about...until you came along. My existence literally revolves around you, Mick, and I know that's a huge pain in the ass to you, but that's how I figured out what my unfinished business is."

“Which is?”

"Remember at the hospital? You touched my forehead before you left."

Mickey was reminded of that day from just a few weeks earlier, the room smelling of disinfectant and Ian asleep with all those machines attached to him that kept reminding him that his life was reduced to a stupid "beep," before he left Ian's life forever, he had placed a kiss on his forehead because Ian had asked him to touch him again. No, because Mickey wanted to know his smell and imprint it in his mind so he would never forget.

"When you did it the EEG found abnormal movement of brain activity."

Ian smiled at the even more confused look on Mickey's face.

"I mean not only was my spirit able to feel you, but you awakened something in my body as well. I didn't notice it right away because...well..."

Ian paused in embarrassment as his cheeks turned red again at the mere memory of that moment.

"Anyway, the nurse on duty noticed it that night, but it was such a small movement that she didn't take it into consideration. But I get it now."

"Why didn't you tell me about it before?"

"I told you, it was a small thing, probably nothing important."

"But maybe if I could touch you again I could bring you back."

"I don't want to give you false hope, Mickey."

Mickey then reached his hand over Ian's, which had yet to move from his leg. He knew he couldn't touch him and that if he tried now it would simply go right through him and yet in his mind kept buzzing that tiny, insignificant hope that it would take so little to bring Ian home, like in one of those Disney princess movies that Iggy forced them to watch when Terry wasn't home. He hesitated for a second just inches away from the back of Ian's large freckled hand, then the latter decided to turn it over and Mickey made their palms join. He closed his eyes, missing the wonderful smile Ian was giving him.

"I can almost feel you."

Mickey admitted, Ian smiled and closed his eyes in turn, focusing on the memory of the warmth that the boy's touch had caused him in the hospital. He imagined feeling the same sensation and for a moment, just for a few seconds, something very similar pervaded his body made of air. His mind wandered to his real body intubated in the hospital, maybe in that moment the machines were detecting a lot of anomalies because Ian knew for sure that that sensation could not go unnoticed.  
If he’d had a heart it would probably have exploded in his chest, he felt his cheeks on fire and Mickey's hand heavy on his palm, he had never felt such a sensation and a little voice in his mind told him that there was no point denying what was happening. They were coming to the end of their run and if he was going to disappear, he might as well admit to himself what Kevin had announced just a few hours earlier. He didn't know exactly how that was possible, but there was no denying the fact that he was quickly falling in love with Mickey. Or at least he hoped he was because he'd never experienced love, but what he felt for him was so beautiful that Ian couldn't associate it with anything else.   
When he opened his eyes, he felt Mickey's gaze on him and couldn't help but smile as he noticed the confusion reflected in his eyes. Their still joined hands seemed to glow with such intensity that it almost seemed to Ian that he was becoming transparent.

"So what's your unfinished business?"

Mickey asked in a hushed voice, never, not even for a second, taking his eyes off the boy's face. Ian returned the look, smiling tenderly, he knew he was blushing again, but this time he didn't care.

"It's you, Mickey."


	11. Awareness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled to write this chapter and I'm not entirely convinced yet...I really don't know how to describe it so uhm sorry if it's a little weird(?)
> 
> But anyway I want to give a big than you to the people who to read this little story, I really appreciate each of you. Thank you so much!

Mickey Milkovich wasn’t the romantic type. 

In fact, Mickey Milkovich was the exact opposite: a sassy, socially inept, romantically apathetic little shit with a dangerous belief that he would be alone for the rest of his miserable life. Because love was simply something Mickey couldn't understand and because falling in love with someone involved a range of emotions and commitments that Mickey didn't think he could handle.

"You're going to die alone."

Mandy had once told him, after the boy had turned down yet another invitation from yet another guy Mickey had fucked once and hoped he would never have to see again. Mickey had laughed at first, but his sister's seriously concerned look had prompted him to explain to her why that was the only certainty in his life and that he wasn't going to do anything to change it.  
Love, he'd said, was just a fucking joke and all that "happily ever after" bullshit was nothing more than pieces of a story made up for rich kids to convince them to marry other rich kids. It certainly had nothing to do with the Milkovich family.   
He distinctly remembered the hurt expression on Mandy's face, who instead believed far too much in love and dreamed of finding her soul mate before graduation.

Basically, the idea of finding someone to settle down with, cook dinner for, or spend afternoons on the couch watching a movie, had never even crossed Mickey's mind. He had never woken up next to someone, he had never come home knowing that he had someone to tell about his day, and having to worry about the life of someone other than his sister was simply science fiction to him.

Then Ian had come along.

And ever since that red giant with a passion for cleaning had (literally) appeared in his house, his life had completely changed. He had often found himself secretly enjoying the reassuring presence of another man next to him and, contrary to what he wanted to believe, he found it strangely pleasant to bicker about coasters or some other minor bullshit that he had never paid attention to in his life.  
Ian had quickly become a small fixed point in the guy's life, so much so that in the weeks following their farewell in the hospital, he had missed him so much that not even beer had soothed the emptiness that Ian's absence had caused. And just in those days he had realized that going to sleep with the knowledge of waking up next to another human being, was not such a bad idea.

Because of this, the idea of being Ian's "unfinished business" was like being struck by a bolt of lightning for him. Knowing that he was the only adult in the entire universe who could see him, to be able to hear the sound of his voice, had frightened him from the first moment, but knowing that the reason was something he had never believed in like fate? That shit fucking terrified him like nothing else in his entire life.   
Now, as Mickey's heart was racing, Ian was standing in front of him, looking at him with bright eyes and a smile so beautiful that Mickey hoped in his heart that it wasn't meant for anyone else.

“Ian-”

He tried to speak, only to realize that he had nothing to say and that the words wouldn't come out anyway. So he decided to focus his attention on their hands still joined (more or less) and on that magnificent light that their union gave off, feeling finally at peace.  
But then, moments later, Ian withdrew his hand and, even though they hadn't really touched, Mickey felt that shiver typical of two bodies that stop touching and the emptiness returned.

"Meeting you has been my greatest good fortune, Mick."

The redhead murmured, bringing his hands in his lap and never taking his eyes off the other boy's pale face.

"And my only regret will be that I met you too late."

"We can still..."

"We're out of time."

Mickey pulled up with his nose, well aware that the spirit was right. They had little time before the boy's older sister arrived in Chicago to put the Gallagher family out of its misery, yet a little voice in his head repeated that those were bullshit because there was a way to buy time and it was right in front of them.

"Four days is a long time."

He had reiterated deliberately ignoring the redhead's dramatic sigh.

"At least four days, Fiona could be here tomorrow for all we know. Mickey, I don't want to spend my last hours looking for a solution that isn't there."

He retorted in a tired tone, he didn't even have the maybes left to think it would be okay. Ian wasn't living in a Disney movie, he knew full well that he didn't have much of a chance of surviving, but he had no desire to spend his last days on earth crying with the man he would have loved so much. 

"And what would you like to do?"

Ian hinted a weak smile, his cheeks tinted a slight red, and he had to look away to be able to speak without stammering in embarrassment.

"I would love a date."

"You never been on a date?"

"Sure I've been on dates, but most of them were set up by my siblings and always ended badly. I'd like to go on a real date, you know? Maybe not in a restaurant because I couldn't eat...but something like a walk along the skyline or to the park...or to the movies."

"A date, got it. What else?"

The redhead cleared his throat, in obvious embarrassment, without taking his eyes off the dusty, unlit TV set on whose screen only Mickey's silhouette was reflected. From that reflection, Ian could enjoy the sweet smile painted on the boy's face as he listened to him blather on about his last wishes.   
He took a moment to think of something else to ask; he had quite a number of ideas, but most of them involved having to touch each other, and as much as Ian delighted in those thoughts, that was really an insurmountable problem.

"I'd like to go to sleep."

Mickey's face contracted into a confused expression as Ian continued to stare at his figure without having to directly look at him thanks to the television screen.

"You can't sleep, Gallagher."

Ian laughed and lowered his gaze to his own hands, entwined in his lap.

"I know, asshole. I want to lie next to you while you fall asleep, though, and I'd like to still be there when you wake up."

This time it was Mickey's turn to blush violently. He thanked his lucky stars that Ian was still, for some reason, staring at his hands so that he wouldn't look like a complete moron in his eyes.

"If you don't want to, that's okay..."

Ian added in a breathy voice when he realized Mickey wasn't going to answer.

“No! I want to, Of course I want to. But when I fall asleep you will disappear”

Ian chuckled, but didn’t look away from the imaginary fixed point on which he was focusing all his attention.

"But we'll both know I'm there and when you open your eyes I'll reappear. It'd be nice."

Mickey nodded and, without adding anything else he got up from the couch, taking a minute to stretch his legs and stretch his arms over his head, then turned to Ian who was looking at him smiling, still sitting on the couch.

"Whatever you want."

Ian smiled and stood up in turn, not taking his eyes off the handsome face of the brunette whose cheeks were still slightly tinged with red.   
Silently, they made their way to the bedroom (Ian refrained from pointing out that the dinner plate was left messily on the coffee table) and, still in silence, stood a few seconds too long at the foot of the bed, carefully avoiding each other's gaze.  
Then Mickey shifted a few steps and turned to the wall to remove his clothes, awkwardly. He'd obviously slept with men in the past and although he'd never stayed over, it hadn't bothered him too much. Not even showing himself semi-naked in front of other people had ever embarrassed him, of course he wasn't the most self-confident guy in the world, but he had never had too many problems about it. That was him way, take it or leave it.  
Yet, for some absurd reason, the fact that Ian was in the room while he was undressing made Mickey kinda uncomfortable. The idea of getting into bed, aware that he didn't have to fuck anyone, but simply fall asleep next to another human being...or spirit, made him rather anxious. Not that he didn’t want to, it was just a new experience that scared the shit out of him.  
He felt the redhead's gaze on him, he could feel his presence behind him, he knew, even without looking at him, that Ian was smiling and this awareness was the thing that terrified him the most. How had Mickey Milkovich, the most tough guy in Chicago, allowed another guy to get so in tune with him that he could even perceive his mood without even looking at his face?

“Are you okay?”

Ian asked, apprehensive. Mickey, now remaining in his boxers, turned and smiled shyly at him, nodding with perhaps a little too much vigor. Ian also smiled in the same way and shyly moved closer to the boy's body until they were only a few inches apart. They looked into each other's eyes and smiled like two silly teenagers facing their first crush.

"I'm a little nervous instead."

The redhead muttered, continuing to look into Mickey's beautiful blue eyes.

"How can you be nervous when I can't even touch you?"

"Maybe I'm even more nervous because of that."

Mickey smiled again, before moving to his own side of the bed while Ian went to lie on the other side. A cool breeze came in through the ajar window and collided with the guy's bare skin causing a slight goose bump, Mickey let out an expletive and decided to hurry the fuck up and get under the covers, lying on his side so he could watch Ian who was chuckling, comfortably lying in the same position with one arm under his head. Under him there was no shadow or dimple, he seemed to float above the uncoordinated pile of sheets and blankets that had become that bed after Mickey's arrival (again, Ian refrained from telling the boy that he had to make his bed every morning).  
They remained in that position looking into each other's eyes for a while, trying in vain to alleviate their embarrassment, without uttering a word.

In that moment Ian was more than grateful that he didn't have a heart or it would have exploded in his chest because everything was damn perfect...well, except the part where he was made of air and was dying of course.  
Mickey was perfect.   
If he could have, he would have snuggled up against the other guy's body and held on to him as tight as he could because it was all too good to be true and the fear that it was all just one big weird dream and the idea that suddenly Mickey would vanish at any moment and he would wake up in the hospital alone, kept nagging at him.

Mickey on the other hand was dying to reach out and touch his face to try and make that annoying shadow of uncertainty and fear fade from his eyes. 

“A penny for your thoughts?”

The dark-haired guy murmured in a whisper, continuing to scan the expressive face of the boy who didn't respond, instead, he reached out a hand towards him, trying to touch his chest covered by the sheets. He sighed disconsolately when the fingers dissolved under his skin, but Mickey smiled tenderly.

“It’s like you are inside my skin.”

He admitted, trying to lift the mood for both of them. Ian frowned, but still hinted at a half smile.

“Gross.”

"Not in a bad way, asshole!"

Mickey laughed, as Ian withdrew his hand, feigning a disgusted expression.

"Is there a positive meaning to a sentence like that?"

“Yeah, like...You’re under my skin? I don’t fuckin’ know, man, I heard it in a movie once.”

Ian burst out laughing and Mickey couldn't help but do the same, though painfully aware that he had just killed and done in piece the tender moment they were having.

“This is the most romantic thing I ever heard in my entire fucking life.”

Ian said sarcastically, continuing to giggle even when Mickey showed him the middle finger.

They spent almost half an hour poking each other and laughing at the stupidest things, like two children in the middle of a sleepover, and the initial embarrassment soon gave way to lightness.  
Mickey discovered that he also appreciated simply being with Ian without thinking about anything but some bullshit he said on purpose to see him laugh, to see the dimples that formed at the corners of his mouth every time he smiled and those stupid little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that rippled when he spoke.  
From the short distance between them and despite the faint light coming from outside the window, Mickey could see every single detail of Ian's face, every little freckle, that he'd never paid attention to before and the realization of how beautiful he really was hit him full chest.  
Not that he hadn't always thought Ian was a handsome guy, that was undeniable, but he had to admit to himself that those details made him even more beautiful in his eyes. In fact, it wasn't just the face, but the whole package. Ian was undoubtedly physically handsome, but the more time passed the more he realized how perfect that boy was in all his little flaws (he even liked his fetish on cleanliness) and in that moment, with Ian inches away from him, Mickey felt like taking his hand and never letting him go, sure as death that he would never find anyone like him again ever again.  
The idea of having to go back to live without him in a few days crept into his mind, ruining the carefree moment he had created. Suddenly he realized that all he had to do was close his eyes to make it go away and that each time could be the last.

"I wish I could do more."

He affirmed, interrupting yet another horrible joke Ian was telling him. In the darkness of the room, Mickey saw the redhead's silhouette lower his shoulders and heard him sigh.

"You did more than you could, Mick."

"But it wasn't enough."

Ian smiled weakly and shook his shoulders.

"Mickey..."

"I don't want to ruin your mood, it's just that...fuck."

"If I've learned anything from this fucked up situation it's that we have to learn to take things as they come, Mick. What needs to happen will happen."

He muttered in response without much conviction, before smiling beaming and continuing to speak.

"And you made me do a lot of cool things, like almost get exorcised by a fucking priest and a team of fake Ghost-busters, that's never happened to me before. So I'd say you've done enough."

Mickey's "Fuck you" resounded in the room, smothered though by Ian's amused laughter as he moved a little more towards the boy's body so as to almost totally cancel out the distance that separated them. So much so that if he had had a tangible body their foreheads probably would have touched. Mickey settled down so as to avoid ending up through him, and then yawned audibly.

"Now get some sleep though, Mick, you owe me a date tomorrow and I want you rested."

They smiled at each other one last time, wanting to put off the moment when Mickey would close his eyes as long as possible.

"Good night, Ian."

Mickey murmured after almost five minutes of silence, just before lowering his eyelids. It didn't take him long to fall asleep, about ten minutes and the boy's breathing became slow and regular and only in that moment, just like a beautiful dream, in the silence of that room and under the dim light of the moon coming in through the window, Ian vanished into thin air.


End file.
